Traitors
by AntaresTheEighthPleiade
Summary: ...but is it really treachery if you're doing it to save your people? AU from the end of Serpent Mage until the end of the series.
1. Chapter 1

The last thing I need is another fanfic. I tried telling this to the plot bunnies, but did they listen? No. So here I am with yet another story that's going to take forever (this is, unfortunately, my lowest-priority tale. Sorry, but updates are going to be slow) and whose ending I do not yet know. Oh well.

Disclaimer: This disclaimer disclaims my non-existant ownership of DGC and means that you cannot sue me. Because I don't own it. Also, this disclaimer applies throughout the fic.

This is an AU of _Serpent Mage_ and the next 3 books that picks up right after the Royal One's death. Just in case you couldn't figure that out.

* * *

><p>Haplo was dying.<p>

Perhaps, if he'd still had his magic, he could have survived. But his power was gone, washed away by Samah and Chelestra's magic-nullifying seawater. Already his vision was beginning to go dark, almost blotting out the shining light cast by the wondrous green and golden dragon that had appeared out of nowhere to save them. Even now it was fighting to buy them time, driving away the hordes of dragon-snakes. Hopefully its attack would buy the others- the ones who might actually survive- enough time to escape.

His hand, pale and cold from blood loss, clasped Devon's shoulders. The young elf jumped- he too had been gawking at the magnificent creature. "What is it, Haplo?"

"Run. Get Grundle and… Alfred." Did the prince know the old man's name? Probably not. "He's the…Sartan. The nice one. Take… them and _go_. Warn your people."

Devon went even paler. "No. No. You're not-"

The dog whined sadly, laid its paw across Haplo's tattered back.

"Go," the Patryn rasped.

The elf grabbed Haplo's arms, hauled him to his feet. The Runner gasped, hissed with pain. "Don't," he ordered. "Lost… too much blood."

Devon looked ready to cry. "I can't lose you too. Not after-" He choked.

Not so soon after Alake's death. Haplo understood. But that didn't make it any better, any less necessary. "It's me or… you. Just… go already."

The world brightened again as the dragon flew over to them. His bright golden eyes took in the scene- Haplo, bleeding and broken and almost dead. If the Patryn- his enemy, his friend- did not receive healing soon….

The dragon folded his wings, sank to the ground. Devon stiffened. Sure, this beast had just saved his life, and it shone as brightly as the One's own angels, but it was still a dragon. Hadn't dragons been known to eat people?

"Go away," the elf whispered. The dragon ignored him. He stepped forward, extended his neck until his nose almost touched Haplo's flesh.

_Haplo. _

Wonderful. Now he was hallucinating. And of course he couldn't imagine something nice, like returning home or playing with the dog. No, he had to imagine that Alfred was talking to him, calling his name in that worried tone of his. Stupid Sartan. Couldn't he see that he was dying horribly and would like to be left alone?

"Go away," Devon repeated. He knew that he stood no chance against the dragon, but he wouldn't just stand aside and let it eat Haplo.

The dragon met his gaze. The elf flinched, looked away, eyes watering as though he'd stared too long at the sun. But what he saw in the dragon's gaze- pity, mercy, compassion- made him whisper, "You can help?"

_Yes,_ the dragon said, his voice swimming through the prince's blood. _With permission, of course._ He leaned closer still to the wounded Patryn. _Haplo, may I heal you? _

He was on Abarrach, a prisoner of Kleitus. Poison surged through his veins, destroying him from the inside out. Then Alfred was there….

I never thanked him, Haplo realized.

"Let me heal you," Alfred said quietly, proffering a hand.

"All right," the Patryn mumbled, and took the hand.

The circle was forged, complete. Warmth flowed from one to the other, and with that warmth came life. With life came memories.

_The dragon-snakes were powerful, terrifying, deadly…. But so was he. Magic exulted within him, thrilled that he was finally wielding it. It was eager, the power was, and its eagerness filled him. _

This is what I was born to do,_ thought Alfred- no, not quite Alfred- and sang the spell. _

_Then he was a dragon, huge and mighty, the Serpent Mage in truth. He flew, fought. Then he saw Haplo wounded, Haplo dying…. _

And then he was Haplo, and Haplo was him, and their circles were joined together even as the exhilarating magic, the marvelous purpose, the glorious wonderful _rightness, _drained from his soul….

Haplo opened his eyes.

Alfred was sprawled out before him, unconscious in the sand. His hands, which had just slipped from Haplo's, were black with blood. The Royal One's blood, he realized with a chill.

"He- he was-" Devon found himself unable to continue. His eyes bulged with shock and awe.

Haplo snapped out of it. He launched himself to his feet, leaned down to shake the unconscious Sartan. "Alfred! Get up!"

"Huh?" The other man blinked blearily at him, utterly befuddled. "Haplo? Wh-"

The Patryn very nearly didn't answer- he had just noticed that his tattoos were back, shining softly and completely unbroken. Evidently Alfred had done something to him during the healing process that had restored his magic. How-?

But that could wait. Now, he had to ensure their survival. "Run with me, both of you. Now!"

Confused, looking as though he'd been hit in the face with something large and heavy, Alfred obeyed. Sartan and elf followed the Patryn across the beach, towards Grundle's still form.

"Do you have enough magic left to transport Grundle away?" Haplo demanded.

"Of course," Alfred panted.

'Of course,' he said, right after turning himself into a dragon the size of the Kicksey-winsey and driving off an army of monsters. Not to mention whatever he'd done to get rid of Samah. And of course he'd already transported himself and the dog to Haplo, punching through whatever wards the dragon-snakes might have erected.

Just how powerful _were_ serpent mages anyway?

"Get her," Haplo ordered, ignoring his last disturbing thought. "I can get Devon home. When you have Grundle, have the magic bring you to me."

Alfred nodded, too out of breath to speak.

Haplo and Devon halted. "Just hold onto me," the Patryn growled. He began to speak and trace the runes.

Transporting two people at once drained most of his energy. Even with the help of Alfred's healing spell, Haplo's body was still recovering from its near-death experience. That, and teleportation was a difficult spell at the best of times, and now was not the best of times. Which led back to the question of _how_ Alfred could-

Focus. You're doing magic now; don't let that fool Sartan distract you.

The world faded. Haplo spoke the last few runes. Another world appeared.

"Devon?" exclaimed Eliason, staring at his almost-son-in-law. "Haplo?" He took in their bloody forms, Haplo's torn clothes, the shock and residual terror on their faces. "What's going on?"

The two younger men exchanged glances. Devon's gaze was lost, miserable. Haplo sighed, took the fall. "Get the other royals. Alake is dead."

"_What?_" Eliason cried.

"Dragon-snakes," rasped Devon. Now that the danger was over, he could no longer control his trembling. He sank into a plush chair. "They-they-" He couldn't continue. One hand grabbed the dog (when had he gotten there?), clutched his ears. The animal whined quietly but didn't move away. He knew that the nice elf was sad, hurting.

Bright blue runes shone in the center of the room. "That's Grundle and… her escort," Haplo said. How was he supposed to explain Alfred?

Eliason opened the door to his makeshift study. Two guards were standing at its other side. "Go get Delu, Dumaka, Yngvar, and Hilda," he ordered. "Now!"

The runes strengthened. Alfred and Grundle stepped into the room. The guards, who had turned to look at their lord as he gave his instructions, gawked. "Majesty, what-?"

"Get them," the emperor repeated. "Tell them that I have…." He froze. "…news."

It was plain from his tone of voice that the news wasn't good. The guards scurried.

Eliason stared questioningly at Alfred. The Sartan flinched, waved awkwardly, looking exceedingly guilty. Then he realized that the elf was royalty and dropped into a bow. Unfortunately, he hadn't looked around before bowing and ended up hitting his head on the wall.

Eliason continued to stare.

Grundle realized she was safe, burst into tears. She grabbed Devon, who had been sobbing silently, in a fierce hug. The elf's arms wrapped around her, taking and offering comfort.

The emperor scurried over to them. "There, there," he murmured gently, patting their backs.

Alfred, rubbing his head where he'd bumped it, fished a handkerchief from his pocket. He sang a rune of replication and handed the two handkerchiefs to the weeping mensch. Then he froze, staring in mute shock at his blood-drenched hand.

A chill crept over Haplo. He thought back to Abarrach, when Alfred had performed a remarkable spell. The Sartan had killed a dead man, unmade the magic keeping the poor thing 'alive.' Nothing the necromancer (who, unlike Alfred, had spent her life studying the art of raising the dead) had done had brought the man back to life.

But though Alfred had seen the results of his song, he had not been able to remember _how_ the magic had worked_._ He hadn't retained the spell- still couldn't remember it, so far as Haplo knew.

But, he assured himself, not even Alfred could forget turning himself into a dragon. The necromancy spell took only a moment to cast. He was in dragon form for several minutes. He _can't_ have forgotten something like that.

Except, judging from the horrified confusion on the Sartan's face, he had.

Haplo's head began to hurt.

Alfred raised his bloody hands to his face. His eyes, already wide, enlarged even more.

Haplo grabbed the Sartan's arm, dragged him to the other side of the cramped study. "How much do you remember?" he demanded, speaking Patryn.

"I don't know," the other man confessed, speaking the same language. He hadn't lifted his gaze from his blood-covered hands.

"You don't remember," Haplo repeated, incredulous. "You're joking."

Alfred shook his head. His face had gone very pale. "The last thing I remember is unmaking Samah's spell- the one with the sea monster. The children were screaming, and I thought that you and I could help once I'd…." He trailed off. "That can't be right," he said. "I can't have been thinking that I could drive off Samah."

"But you did," Haplo pointed out.

The Sartan opened his mouth to protest. The Patryn knew what Alfred would say- I can't have, I'm not powerful enough (liar), I certainly would remember that, I wouldn't. Then his brain caught up with his tongue, and he realized that if he _hadn't _driven Samah away, they would both be his prisoners.

"What happened?" Alfred's voice was tiny, frightened.

Haplo closed his eyes. "You're sure you can't remember?"

"Yes. I'm sorry. I just-"

The Patryn heaved a sigh. "I don't know what you did to Samah," he said without preamble. "I was busy with the dragon-snakes- not that I was much use. Alake, the human princess- she's dead now. I couldn't save her. I couldn't save myself either.

"Grundle went back to ask for help. I sent her, mostly to get her out of the way. That way, one less person would die. Then the dragon-snakes injured me. I knew I was dying, told Devon to run. He refused. Then…."

How could he phrase this without sounding like a complete and total lunatic?

Haplo wished he wasn't so tired, but the magic (not to mention the rest of his day) had drained his strength. His thoughts felt sluggish, slow. Still, he persevered.

"Is any of this ringing a bell? Grundle going to you for help, me injured, Devon refusing to leave?" Haplo spoke without much hope. He knew what the answer would be. Sure enough, Alfred was shaking his head.

The Patryn grimaced. Of course not.

"What about the dragon?" he prompted.

"Dragon?" Alfred repeated.

"Yeah, the dragon," Haplo repeated. "Green scales, golden wings. Huge, powerful, shining." Yes, shining, blazing with the hidden strength of your soul. That dragon represented the part of your being that you pushed away, kept hidden under lock and key.

Alfred could see an image of the creature he had become, painted in the very air by the magic of the Patryn rune-language. Yet no recognition lit up his face. Haplo's remaining hopes plummeted.

That was when Delu and Dumaka burst into the room. "What's going on?" the former demanded. Her eyes scanned the room. "Where is my daughter? Where is Alake?"

Grundle and Devon's sobs redoubled.

Delu spun, faced Haplo. She took in the confused Alfred. One eyebrow arched, but she chose to ignore him. "Haplo, where is my daughter?"

"Dead," the Patryn confessed.

The humans went very, very still. "Dead?" Dumaka echoed. "You are…."

"I saw her die." Haplo glanced at the grieving prince. "So did Devon. Grundle was getting help."

Delu's shoulders shook. Alfred grabbed another handkerchief. He handed it to her before shrinking back into his corner.

Yngvar and Hilda arrived. They too took in the scene: the weeping teenagers, the stunned adults, the inexplicably present Sartan who was trying and failing to hide. "What's going on?" the dwarves demanded in tandem.

Grundle disengaged herself from Devon, ran over to her parents. "Alake's dead," she sobbed. "Alake's dead, she's dead, she's dead…." She hugged her mother, shaking all over.

Yngvar looked at Alfred. "Did your people do this?" he snarled.

"No!" the Sartan cried, shrinking away.

"He _saved_ us!" Grundle protested. "The dragon-snakes- they were going to kill Haplo and Devon and me too, but he chased them away!"

Yngvar stared critically at Alfred, the least impressive specimen he'd ever seen.

"It's true," Devon croaked. "Haplo was dying and I was trying to get him up so he wouldn't die, but he'd lost too much blood and- and- it sounds crazy, but-" He couldn't continue.

Haplo's headache flared. He rubbed his temples, finished Devon's statement for him. "Alfred turned himself into a dragon, killed the king snake, and chased the others off."

Dead silence. Alfred's mouth worked silently, trying to form the word _dragon_ but incapable of forcing the sound out. The royalty looked from him to Haplo and back again. Then Grundle broke the silence by announcing, "It's true. I _saw_ him."

The Sartan recovered his voice. "Dragon?" he whispered. "I- what?"

"He can't remember," Haplo explained to the befuddled prince and princess. His headache throbbed. "I've traveled with him before. This isn't the first time he's forgotten something that a normal person would remember."

"He's senile?" Grundle squawked.

No, the Patryn thought. Not senile, only broken.

"I think," Eliason said, "that we should start at the beginning."

Haplo nodded. "Good idea."


	2. Chapter 2

Alfred listened in frightened wonder as Haplo and the two surviving mensch children told their wild tale. He could remember parts of it, like showing up with the dog and immediately fainting, but most of the day was a blur. Grundle _said_ that he had been fighting Samah when she came for him, and he had no reason to doubt her, but….

A _dragon_? He had turned himself into a _dragon_ and then _forgotten_ about it? How was that even possible?

But why would Haplo, Grundle, and Devon lie? They knew it was an absurd claim. And if they were lying (which he doubted), why? Why would they tell a confused, useless Sartan that he had become a magnificent green and golden behemoth capable of driving off armies?

_Serpent mage,_ he thought with a chill. Goose bumps broke out across his skin.

Don't think about it, he told himself. Don't be selfish. These poor people have just lost a friend, a daughter- it's wrong to think of yourself when they're in so much pain.

So he stood hunched over in his corner, trying not to call attention to himself, an awkward observer as the mensch wept. Tears flooded his own eyes. He had never known Alake, but the grief around him was poignant enough to make a stone weep.

He glanced at Haplo. The Patryn's eyes were suspiciously moist, but he held himself sternly, face blank. The dog wove throughout the mensch, offering comfort to everyone he could.

Alfred flinched. He wished that he could help too, but what could he do? He was a stranger to these people, and even if he did try to speak with them, they'd bring up the dragon and he wouldn't know how to respond. Perhaps he should just walk away, leave them alone to their grief.

Haplo padded over to him. "We should leave," he murmured. Once again, their thoughts had journeyed on the same road.

The Sartan nodded. "Yes," he replied. He was well aware that Haplo wanted to interrogate him, but…. This wasn't his place.

He _had_ no place.

Patryn and Sartan eased over to the door. If not for Alfred's clumsiness, they might have escaped unnoticed. Unsurprisingly, though, the Sartan tripped over his own feet. He went crashing down, nearly landing atop Dumaka.

"Sorry!" he cried, face scarlet. "Sorry, I'm sorry!"

The king stared at him, eyes dark and intense. Alfred picked himself up, kept his gaze to the floor. He hadn't had many good experiences with authority figures lately and didn't want to push his luck.

Then Dumaka grabbed the startled older man in a hug. Alfred went rigid, wondered wildly if this was some bizarre form of attack. But it wasn't, for Dumaka released him. The king looked him in the eye and said, "Thank you."

"I'm…sorry?"

"Thank you for trying to save her." The human glanced at Haplo. "Both of you."

"We didn't," Haplo pointed out. Sorrow filled his voice.

"But you tried," Delu whispered. "And you saved Alake's closest friends in the world. She-" The queen choked. "She would be grateful to you."

"You're welcome," Alfred mumbled, not knowing what else to say. He didn't deserve her thanks, not when he couldn't remember what had happened. Uncomfortable, wanting more than ever to get out, he ducked his head in a quick bow and continued, "By your leave, Majesties."

Delu waved him away. Alfred scurried backwards- straight into the study's door. He stumbled.

Haplo caught his arm. The Patryn's grip was surprisingly gentle. "Come on," he muttered.

They slipped past the confused guards, who stared questioningly at Alfred but made no comment. They trusted Haplo. If he wanted to bring an unbound Sartan through their impromptu colony, then he had his reasons. Besides, all five of the monarchs had presumably seen the old man leave.

"You tired, Alfred?" Haplo asked. He spoke elvish- they were surrounded by elves, and he didn't want them to think he was hiding something.

"A bit," the Sartan mumbled.

The Patryn laughed ruefully. "A bit," he repeated. "Yeah, I'd be a bit tired too, after a day like yours."

Suddenly he _was_ tired, exhausted even. Haplo was right; his day had been long and filled with amazing feats of magic. If he wasn't tired, then that would mean that his magic was powerful enough to buoy him over. Which it wasn't, so of course he was tired. He just hadn't realized it before.

Haplo snorted as Alfred yawned. "Let me guess," he drawled. "You just realized that a normal person would be tired and your body adjusted itself accordingly."

Alfred opened his mouth but was unable to deny it. Instead he whispered, "A dragon?"

"A dragon," Haplo confirmed.

The Sartan looked down at his hands. The blood on them had dried, was beginning to flake off. "A dragon," he whispered. He tried to imagine those large, knobby hands as powerful claws that tore through a dragon-snake's hide. His imagination failed.

"And let's not forget what else you did today," Haplo continued. His voice was mild, casual. "Transporting yourself and the dog to me, bringing Grundle home. And Samah. I wonder… how much power did he use in his spells against you? And how much of yours did you use against him?"

It was a trap. Alfred knew it was a trap- but he also knew that he couldn't get out of it. Even if he didn't answer, Haplo would continue anyways. So he settled on, "I don't know."

"I imagine that he used quite a bit." Haplo hadn't lost that mild, casual tone. "And Samah is widely considered the most powerful Sartan who ever li-"

Alfred went tumbling into a heap, nearly knocking the Patryn over. He actually somersaulted once before rolling to a stop. The noise of his fall blotted out the other man's final word, his body's last-ditch attempt to avoid a terrifying truth.

Haplo squatted down, looked Alfred in the eye. The Sartan found himself unable to look away from the Patryn's gaze. It was as though the other man was a poisonous snake, hypnotizing its helpless, paralyzed prey. "Samah," he repeated, "is widely considered the most powerful Sartan who ever lived."

"Is he all right?" an elf asked.

The non-elves ignored her. Alfred shook his head, mute, desperate to deny the awful implications of what Haplo was saying. Samah _was_ the most powerful Sartan who ever lived. He _was_.

And he, Alfred, was not.

"He must have been tired," he whispered. It was a weak defense, utterly pathetic, but even foolishness was better than the alternative. "Perhaps he didn't sleep well last night."

Haplo snorted, didn't deign to respond.

"That had to have been it," Alfred continued. His voice was louder now, more frantic. "Because he's not just _considered_ the strongest. He _is_ the strongest." But his voice lacked conviction. Instead, it trembled with terror.

Once again, Haplo wasn't buying it. "The dragon-snakes aren't afraid of Samah."

Alfred climbed to his feet. Haplo helped, dragging him up, steadying him. "Serpent Mage, they call you," the Patryn continued. "Do you know what that title means, Alfred?"

"I've never…." He looked around, noticed that they had an audience. "Can we discuss this later?" he asked hopefully.

The audience members tried to pretend that they weren't listening.

Naturally, Haplo wasn't going to oblige Alfred. In the Patryn language, he continued, "I don't know what it means, either, but I'm willing to guess. I'd bet my magic that it's a name for a powerful wizard, more powerful than any Sartan or Patryn who ever lived, someone so filled with magic that he can invent new spells in a heartbeat. Someone who could transport four people, fight Samah, and top it all off by turning into a dragon and driving off an army. Does that sound like a good guess to you, Alfred?"

Yes, it did sound like a good guess, but he wished with all his heart that it did not. He wasn't smart or brave or wise or strong; the thought of singing dancing exulting power surging through his veins was as terrifying as it was thrilling. It was an awful thought, too terrible to contemplate.

And even worse…. He couldn't deny it. He wanted to, even opened his mouth to speak the words, but he could not lie. The truth of Haplo's guess resonated within him like music, like the song of the runes themselves….

Darkness curdled at the edge of his vision. His head felt light, dizzy. He knew the signs, knew he was going to faint. And he wanted to.

But Haplo wouldn't let him. Haplo shook him once, just enough to banish the black mists. The shadows receded, though the terror remained.

"Let me go," he begged. He wanted to faint, to spend a few hours in blissful darkness. He didn't want to confront the truth.

"What will that do?" the Patryn demanded. "Will it take away your power? Will it blot out the fact that _you_ killed the king dragon-snake? Will it, Sartan?"

Alfred slumped, defeated. "No," he rasped brokenly.

They stood there in silence for a long moment. Alfred stared down at his feet, which were shuffling about of their own accord. Haplo just watched him, gaze intense.

A nearby elf, the same one who had spoken up before, decided that she didn't like the tense silence. "Master Haplo," she gulped, "is your… um… is he all right?" She nodded at the trembling, gray-faced Alfred.

The Sartan started. "I'm fine, my dear," he answered automatically. "I'm- I'm just- tired."

The elf looked doubtful.

"It's been a long day," Alfred continued. "I just need to sleep."

Haplo looked at him sharply. Alfred knew what the Patryn was thinking: If I let this idiot sleep, will he forget _again?_ The Sartan shook his head. No, he was fairly certain that he would remember their conversation- as much as he would like to forget, he could not.

"And where will you sleep, um, Goodman Sartan?" the dubious elf continued. "There is not a great deal of space in our colony, and I doubt that many families will be willing to let you into their temporary homes."

Because he was a Sartan, of course. She didn't say it, but Alfred heard it nonetheless.

"Will you return to your people?" the elf lady repeated.

"I don't think that would be a good idea," Alfred mumbled. He thought of Samah. The Councillor had been angry enough at him for letting Haplo go. He didn't want to think about how furious Samah would be at the man who had attacked him and won, all for a Patryn's sake.

Not to mention that Haplo himself wouldn't let him leave.

"I'll just…um…" Where could he sleep? Perhaps he could wander outside, make do under a tree or something. He'd be horribly stiff in the morning, but he'd been stiff before.

Haplo hesitated. He glanced back at where the dog stood with the mensch, then, grimacing, back at Alfred. "There's a little space in my chamber," he stated. "As long as you don't move around a lot in your sleep, you can stay there until we find you someplace else. But if I wake up to find you cuddling me…." His voice trailed off.

"I won't," the Sartan promised, "but I'm sure I could find someplace else to sleep."

"Don't," Haplo ordered. "You'd probably fall into the sea or something. Come on, Sartan."

Alfred didn't argue. He _was_ rather tired, after all. Besides, he knew full well that even if he ran and hid from Haplo, the Patryn wouldn't let him escape. He _would_ be interrogated, like it or not.

And he wasn't particularly looking forward to that.

He knew that Haplo would grill him for details, so he spent the walk to the Runner's room trying frantically to remember. It didn't work. It was as though someone had poked a giant hole in his mind. In a way, someone had.

_He_ had.

Though nothing surged in Alfred's recollections, he did manage to formulate a plan. When Haplo closed the door of his modest apartment, the Sartan was prepared.

"Give me a moment," he entreated. "I still can't remember anything, but the possibility exists that I remember everything."

"You can do that with your magic?" The Runner seemed skeptical.

Alfred nodded, ignoring his own doubts. "I should be able to, yes. So please, give me a moment."

As always, performing magic transformed him. His ungainly body straightened out, shoulders squared, face at peace. His blood changed, becoming a cocktail of music and light and contentment. His eyes tried to flutter shut; only a supreme effort of will kept them open.

Magic had always been different for him. The other Sartan weren't half so enamored with the simple sensation of singing the runes. Whenever he tried to explain what it did to his soul, they failed to understand.

He had always wondered why. Even as a child he'd known that the others weren't quite the same, that he experienced something so fundamental very differently than his people. Now he knew.

It was a mark of his power, of the twisting possibilities that writhed within him, begging for release. He possessed more magical potential, so he was more in tune with the magic's… not desires, not soul, but its being, for wont of a better word.

So this time, as he sang the runes, Alfred tried to fight the sheer bliss his song afforded him. He didn't like the power, didn't want it, so he would deny it.

It was hard, though, because a part of his soul that he'd locked away understood that magic was his birthright, the reason that Illiel and Sath had conceived a third child. Magic brought completeness, a simple jubilee that penetrated the very depths of his being.

But even without giving himself fully to the power, as he had many times before, Alfred felt the holes in his mind begin to fill. Not much, but still. A few moments more, and he would-

-_understand. _

Comprehension. He felt the immense power, magic _becoming _his blood instead of simply filling it, his body transformed to something fey and huge and powerful. Knowledge. Samah could not compare to him, puny weakling mage that he was; and he, Coren of Arianus, even among his own people, was and always had been and always would be a Sartan among mensch-

Sick terror welled up inside Alfred. His mind rebelled against the awful truth, his worst fear come true. He doubled over, gagged. Tears seared his eyes. His body was on fire, his mind fluttering like a hummingbird's heart-

-and then he fainted, slid into the merciful blackness of sleep, and blotted out all he had just learned.

* * *

><p>And this is why mental illness and rune-magic don't work. They are a bad combination and should be avoided.<p>

Also, Alfred really _has_ been having issues with authority lately. Lots and lots of issues. So his nervousness around Dumaka is kind of justified.

Next up: a long, somewhat awkward conversation in which, among other things, Alfred makes a dog joke that Haplo doesn't get.

-Antares


	3. Chapter 3

"He fainted," Haplo groaned in disgust. His headache spiked again. He cursed.

Part of the Patryn was tempted to just leave him there. Even if he did wake Alfred up, he was just going to go back to sleep anyways. Fainting was just a faster way of falling asleep, after all.

Except that this was Alfred, and knowing Alfred, he'd probably given himself brain damage from the failed spell. Haplo swore again.

"But then," he grumbled, dropping to his knees, "I do owe him." He took the Sartan's large hands in his own. Healing for healing.

Even if Alfred hadn't given himself brain damage (which was really all too likely), there was still a chance that a Patryn's spell would work even when the Sartan's had not. Not much of a chance, admittedly, but better than nothing.

Their circles joined. Haplo's strength flowed into Alfred's body. Memories swam between them. Haplo caught brief glimpses of the Sartan's fear, a small shadow of his terror. The Patryn understood: for years, Alfred had feared that some mensch would discover his power, take advantage of him. Now that he had found his people again, he had thought himself safe. But he isn't, because to a serpent mage, we're all mensch….

He should have been afraid that it was a Sartan, not one of his own people, who wielded such power. No Patryn could compete with this man lying prone before him. Not even Xar, powerful as he was, could transform himself into dragon-shape, especially not after fighting Samah.

Alfred moaned softly, pulled away from the circle.

It was a good thing he had chosen that moment to awaken, because that was precisely when an ugly thought crossed Haplo's mind. His lord could not become a dragon. If his lord were here, then he would slaughter this shape-shifter, this Sartan threat.

Haplo shook his head. The evil thought fled. Not that he would have acted on it, of course- he was, despite himself, beginning to like Alfred (though he was still a long way from admitting it aloud)- but consciously deciding to do something his master wouldn't bordered on treachery. It wasn't quite there, but it was certainly close.

He imagined how he would explain this to Xar: "The Sartan could be our ally, Lord. Powerful and talented, though he refuses to acknowledge it. He has no desire for a war between our peoples… and neither do I."

But that was for later. "Do you remember?" he demanded.

Alfred shook his head, a portrait of wretchedness. "I'm sorry," he whispered.

Haplo sighed. "I didn't think it would work anyways," he muttered. He considered interrogating the wretch but decided otherwise. They were both exhausted. "Go to sleep, Sartan. Just stay on your side of the room."

The older man nodded, too soul-weary to argue. He curled up in a corner, not even bothering to take off his shoes or coat. Soon he was snoring.

Haplo, though, could not sleep.

Xar would see this as treachery. Xar already hated Alfred, both for his heritage and for 'corrupting' Haplo on Abarrach. And when he learned that Haplo had had this enemy, this Serpent Mage, in his clutches and once more let him live….

"Not treachery," the Patryn muttered. His fists clenched, nails digging into his palms.

A war between their peoples would be disastrous. The last war had Sundered the world, locked an entire race inside a nightmarish prison. Who knew what another war would do?

The dead of Abarrach tearing through the Nexus. Blood streaming through the streets of the Chalice. The walls of the Labyrinth torn down, releasing all the monsters trapped within. Perhaps even another Sundering, if Samah were desperate enough. The extinction of the Patryn race- Samah wouldn't bother with imprisonment, not this time. And hidden in the shadows, the dragon-snakes would grow stronger, fatter, sleeker, feasting off the ever-growing fear and pain and hate….

The dog, which hadn't been present mere moments ago, whimpered. He pressed his snout into Haplo's hand, begging for comfort. His master stroked the animal's face.

Yes, a war between them would end in disaster. But it was inevitable?

Two years ago, he would have said yes, and he would have smiled while answering. He had been thirsty for Sartan blood, desperate for their deaths. Now, though….

Haplo looked at Alfred (or whatever his name really was), a Sartan who had gone against his own people to save a Patryn's life. Alfred had had nothing to gain, everything to lose. Yet still he'd chosen to defy Samah, to don green scales and golden wings, to risk his own life. A selfless Sartan- something no one in the Nexus would believe.

If one Sartan, a teardrop in the Wave, could save a Patryn's life not for his own sake, but for the sake of his enemy….

No, Haplo decided, war was _not_ inevitable. There could be, would be, peace.

Or so he hoped.

He woke several hours later to the sound of Alfred's gasp. The Sartan was staring at his bare feet. Like his hands, they were covered in dry blood. He looked at Haplo, saw that the Patryn was awake, and asked, "Did the dragon- er, did _I_-use its- my-hind claws?"

Haplo nodded.

"Oh," Alfred mumbled, bemused. "That would explain it then."

An awkward silence fell. After all, this was the first time they'd really ever been in a position to _talk_ with each other. They weren't running from lazar or being stalked by dragon-snakes or anything; they were just sitting in Haplo's cramped cabin staring at each other, not knowing what to say.

Alfred fidgeted. Haplo stared. Alfred fidgeted some more. The dog looked from one man to the other and back again, wondering if this was some bizarre game. If it was, it wasn't much fun.

"I don't suppose you remembered anything while you were sleeping?" Haplo's voice cut through the silence.

Alfred's shoulders slumped. "I don't know," he confessed. "I dreamt of dragons, I know that much, but…."

"You can't remember the dream."

A miserable nod.

"You really need to fix that tear in your soul."

Alfred glanced at the dog. "I don't suppose," he sighed, "that you'd have any idea how I could do that."

The joke flew right over Haplo's head. "I think you're the only one who would know, Alfred."

But I don't. I'm too weak, too foolish, too afraid. At least I know who Alfred is. I don't know a thing about Coren, about strength and courage and hope. I didn't even know he was still alive- I thought him long dead. But he's really just sleeping, lying in a crystal tomb….

The Sartan hunched over, hugged his knees to his chest. "I don't," he whispered. "I don't even know how to go about learning how to heal myself. Or maybe it's impossible. Maybe the rift is too deep, too old."

Haplo shrugged. "Two days ago, I thought that a man turning himself into a dragon was impossible, too."

Alfred flinched as though the Patryn had struck him. "I swear to you, Haplo, I still don't know how I did that. It's like Abarrach all over again, with the dead captain."

The younger man accepted that. His lips quirked in a tiny smile. "It seems to me, Sartan, that you do your most impressive feats when someone else is in danger."

"Yes. You, both times."

"Both times that we know about," Haplo corrected. His gaze was focused, intense. "There's a good chance that your memory has failed you before. Was there ever a time when someone said you'd done something with your magic but you couldn't remember doing it?"

Alfred's heart skipped a beat.

The quicksilver dragon. Fear, desperation. Bane gone, stolen by the ancient enemy. Mystriarchs tending to Hugh the Hand. Iridal's mad claim. The shambling corpses on Abarrach- no, the quick deadly lazar, less than three days dead.

"No, no, I can't have, not that, anything but that-"

Alfred didn't realize he was speaking aloud until Haplo grabbed him by the shoulder, shook him. "Can't have done what?" the Patryn demanded.

The Sartan shook his head wildly. "It doesn't matter, because I wouldn't do it! Even before Jera-" He shuddered.

"Wouldn't have _what_, Sartan?" Haplo ground out.

Alfred didn't dare speak it, not if it might be true. Instead, he rasped, "What happened on the day you abducted Bane?"

"I know you used your magic on the dragon, if that's what you're worried about."

"I know that as well. But what else happened?"

Haplo frowned, not certain what the other man was searching for. "I got Bane, obviously. Saved you and Limbeck. Sinistrad and Hugh the Hand both died-"

"You're certain?" Alfred's voice was sharp, terrified. "You're certain that Sir Hugh died?"

"He was dead," the Patryn confirmed. "Or at least-" his eyes narrowed "-he was the last time I checked."

Alfred buried his face in his hands. His ungainly body trembled all over. "No," he whimpered brokenly, but without much conviction.

"You think you brought him back?"

"That's just it." The Sartan looked up, met Haplo's gaze. "I don't know! Iridal said I did. She said that Sir Hugh was dead. I told her that he couldn't have been, because the mystriarchs were taking care of him when we left to search for Bane, and dead people don't need that kind of care. And I knew that you couldn't have brought him back, because you were busy, and I couldn't remember bringing him back either, so of course I thought he'd never really died. That was the only explanation- I didn't know that my memory was failing me."

"They were caring for him?" Haplo repeated.

"Yes, they- Merciful Sartan! I left a lazar in the midst of humans." Alfred's face had acquired a nasty greenish tone. "I've killed them all."

Haplo frowned. "I'm not so sure about that," he admitted. "If he was a lazar, he wouldn't need care. And he'd probably have already come for you and Iridal."

"So you don't think he died?" Alfred asked, voice full of desperate hope.

Haplo considered. "Maybe. Or maybe you created some new breed of dead thing. You're certainly capable of it. The only way you can find out for certain is by going back and asking Hugh."

"I can hardly ask someone who doesn't know I'm a Sartan whether I used Sartan rune-magic to raise him from the dead!"

"If you used Sartan rune-magic to raise him from the dead, then he's probably figured your heritage out already," Haplo retorted dryly. Then, deciding that this was as good a segue as any, he added, "So what will you do?"

"About Sir Hugh?"

"About everything." Haplo glanced towards Eliason's quarters. "My path is clear. I have to return home, warn my lord about the dragon-snakes." Even though I doubt he'll listen.

"My people already know," Alfred sighed. "Not that we've really done anything. We've been so busy trying to control the mensch that we've ignored the real threat." He smiled sadly. "Not a threat to our power and pride, but a threat to everyone and everything."

"Both our peoples," Haplo agreed. He was looking at Alfred oddly.

Not that long ago, they had put aside their differences for mutual survival. The dragon-snakes were at least as deadly as Abarrach. If two enemies could work together, save each other, and even (though Haplo admitted it only grudgingly) come to like each other, then why couldn't the same thing happen on a larger scale? Their peoples didn't even have to like each other, just stop the bloodshed while the dragon-snakes were hidden in the shadows.

"Samah would never agree to an alliance," the Sartan lamented. "Or even the ceasefire you're suggesting."

"Perhaps if you brought him to Abarrach, showed him the lazar, the Chamber-"

"It won't work," Alfred groaned. "He's already met the Higher Power, and I've told him more than enough about the dead. He saw the truth in my words, but he ignored it in favor of trying to dominate the mensch and-" He blushed "-and to defeat your people."

Haplo was beginning to get impatient. "So you're just going to sit around and do nothing? I doubt that my lord will listen either, but you don't see me sitting around whining about it!"

"The Lord of the Nexus listens to you," Alfred pointed out. "Samah disdains me- everything about me. If I asked him to not fight the Patryns anymore- I don't know what he did to the others, and I almost don't want to find out."

"Others?"

"Before the Sundering, there were others who found encountered the Higher Power. Unlike Samah, though, they believed. They became heretics, and I don't know what happened to them." He shivered.

Haplo shook himself. They were going down a tangent; solving some ancient mystery about long-dead Sartan couldn't help their present situation. "Unless it happens to you, I don't particularly care what happened to them. Is there anyone on the Council who _would_ listen to you?"

Alfred's face lit up. His stooped shoulders straightened. "Orla!" he exclaimed happily. The name conjured up bright, happy images. Orla was a beautiful woman, at least in Alfred's eyes.

_I'll be_, Haplo thought, amazed. _The fool's gone and fallen in love with a Councillor. And unless he's completely delusional, she seems to like him back- at least well enough to hear him out. How the devil did he manage that?_

"Orla will listen to me," Alfred declared. "In the war, she wanted the Sartan to defend themselves only, not go out and attack. She led the opposition to the Sundering. Orla will listen to me, and since her husband is Samah-"

Haplo choked. "What?" he asked in a strangled voice.

"Orla is Samah's wife," Alfred explained. The Sartan couldn't keep the unhappiness out of his voice. "It's not exactly a warm marriage, but-"

That was when Haplo lost all control. He howled with mirth, doubled over.

"I know it's ironic that Samah's wife is our best hope," Alfred grumbled, "but it's not _that_ funny."

The Patryn grinned. "Does Samah know he's been cuckolded?" Oh, he hoped so. Except that he shouldn't hope so, because then Samah would be less likely to listen to Orla and they'd be back to square one. But if _Alfred, _clumsy homely Alfred, had cuckolded the head of the Council of Seven…. Well, he'd get a hero's welcome back at the Nexus, that was for certain.

Alfred's eyes nearly popped out of his head. "Cuckolded?" he squeaked, appalled. His entire face was red. "We did no such thing!"

"That you remember," Haplo muttered.

He had intended it as a joke, but the Sartan didn't laugh. Instead, he went gray, then red again, then gray. "We did not," he hissed, attempting to look dignified and failing, "do- _that._ We didn't. My lapses seem only to occur when magic is involved, so we can't have." By the end of his speech, his face had gone red again.

Haplo regained control over himself with an effort. Part of him was tempted to tease Alfred further, but there was no point to that. "You're sure Orla will listen, that she can make Samah listen?"

"I know that _she_ will listen," Alfred sighed. "I don't know about her husband. Or Ramu, her son- he's a servitor."

"Good for Ramu. I'll talk to my lord, try to make him understand." He frowned slightly. "But before I leave, I need to know what you've been up to."

Alfred grimaced but obediently told the younger man everything. Haplo listened with a mixture of humor and horror as the Sartan related how he had (among other things) twice broken into a forbidden chamber, defied several direct decrees of the Council of Seven, and topped it all off by accusing the Council of cowardice and lies to their faces. Not to mention tending to a Patryn's dog, refusing to betray aforementioned Patryn, defending that Patryn and the Patryn race in general, bearing horrible news about the other three worlds, and making it painfully obvious to Orla that he viewed her as more than a friend.

No wonder the Sartan didn't like him.

"What about you?" Alfred inquired.

"You can hear it from the mensch. I have to leave." Haplo glanced down at the dog. "Come on, boy. We have to get back to the Nexus." The animal rose to its feet, stretched luxuriously.

"You're leaving already?" For some reason, Alfred seemed to disapprove. "What about the funeral?"

Haplo paused.

There were no funerals in the Labyrinth. The dead were left exposed in the hopes that their flesh would placate predators. If we leave our dead behind, the Patryns reasoned, the snogs and their ilk will go for easier meat. The living will be safe. And so they abandoned their corpses with hardly a goodbye.

He should go back to the Nexus, warn his lord as soon as possible. But a part of him wanted to stay behind, say goodbye to Alake in the fashion of her people.

"When is this funeral?"

"I don't know," Alfred admitted. "I haven't been out."

A few minutes of investigation revealed that the funeral would be in four days, long enough to spread the word and make preparations. Haplo was relieved- he could journey to the Nexus and back within that timeframe.

"You shouldn't waste time either," the Patryn ordered Alfred as he walked towards his ship. "Talk to Orla, make her listen."

"I will," Alfred promised. Hope bubbled inside him like champagne, like magic. Even if Orla couldn't convince Samah, the other Councillors would listen to her. Even Samah could be outvoted. "Take care, Haplo."

The Patryn paused. Alfred continued walking but tried to look over his shoulder. Naturally, this resulted in a fall.

Haplo picked him up without a word. Then, just before he got onto his ship, he answered. "You too, Alfred."

* * *

><p>Isn't friendship special? Even if it's really, really weird.<p>

Next up: Retrieving the body, and Alfred's brilliant idea for talking with Orla.

-Antares


	4. Chapter 4

Alfred had intended to leave right after Haplo. He knew how to contact Orla without getting arrested or getting her in trouble. It would take a bit of preparation, but he was a good tailor and he'd thought about the other spell several times on Arianus. He'd never actually performed it, of course- that would have given him away- but he knew it was possible for any Sartan wizard. It wouldn't require any of the terrifying power at all.

But his plans were derailed by Yngvar walking up to him just before Haplo's new ship (it didn't even have runes on it. The Patryn would carve in the runes en route, though only on the inside) slipped out of sight. "They're going to collect Alake's body now," he announced quietly.

The Sartan dropped down to his knees, a sign of respect for dwarves. He was still almost a head higher than the king, but the height difference wasn't quite so pronounced anymore.

"Delu thinks that you should come with," the dwarf continued. "According to Devon and my daughter, the dragon-snakes are terrified of you. Delu thinks that if you come along, they'll be less likely to attack."

Alfred's face went gray. The last thing he wanted was to return to Draknor. By this point, the dragon-snakes were probably very… annoyed… with him. They may have recovered from their fear, remembering instead that he had (by some odd miracle) killed their king. And there were very many of them, and only one of him.

He opened his mouth to explain that to Yngvar, but he'd hesitated a second too long. "Excellent!" the king exclaimed, thumping him on the back. Alfred nearly fell on his face- he hadn't been prepared for the friendly blow at all. "Come on, then. Let's go meet them."

"Actually, Majesty-"

"It's Yngvar," the king corrected him. "We dwarves don't waste time on fancy titles. Now come on, Alfred. Don't want to be late, do you?"

In all honesty, he _did_ want to be late- or better yet, not to go at all! But Yngvar was too clever to let Alfred voice his excuses. "Where's Haplo going?" he demanded.

"He has to warn his own lord about the dragon-snakes. He said that he'll try to be back for the funeral, though. But about Draknor-"

"He'll be back within three days?" Yngvar frowned. "Just how far away does he live, anyways?"

"Very far, but I suspect that he'll use his magic to speed up the ship. As long as he keeps the rune-structures dry, then he can move very quickly indeed. But-"

"How useful," Yngvar noted. "I know some shipwrights who'd sell their souls for that kind of ability. Can you Sartan do the same?"

"Yes, but-"

"That'd be a good point to remember in a trade agreement one day, but I shouldn't count my chickens before they hatch. Could you do that for the ships that are headed to Draknor, or are you still too tired from yesterday?"

Alfred gave up. "It wouldn't be permanent- I don't have time to carve the runes into the structure- but yes, I could."

Yngvar noticed that the Sartan was no longer protesting his involvement in the retrieval mission. He hid a grin. Who said that diplomacy was all fancy words and vague promises? Sometimes, simple pigheadedness was the best route.

"Found him," the dwarf called.

Delu, Dumaka, and a contingent of human soldiers glanced up. Alfred, uncomfortable with all the stares, tripped. He went sprawling onto his belly, narrowly avoiding Yngvar. "Sorry."

The royals mumbled something about him being forgiven. Their eyes were distant, lost, gazing ahead.

Alfred hid himself in a corner and began to sing the runes. He wanted to get out of this uncomfortable, miserable situation as quickly as possible.

Their journey was short, silent, and sorrowful. Delu and Dumaka spent it holding hands. Occasionally they would look at one another. Their gazes would meet. Then they would sigh heavily and lower their teary eyes. The crew and escort of soldiers were equally silent, respecting their monarchs' grief. And perhaps they too were mourning for the dead princess- Alake had been well-liked among her people. She would have been a wonderful queen. Or so they imagined.

Then the captain reported that they were approaching Draknor. Minutes later, the corpse-seekers disembarked.

Delu spoke for the first time. "According to Devon, Alake…" she swallowed heavily "…died at the mouth of the dragon-snakes' cave. H-hopefully she is st-still there." She turned away, hid her face in Dumaka's chest. The king lowered his head, hiding his own grief in his wife's hair.

Alfred's heart broke for them. _If only I had been faster…._

"Come on." One of the guards gestured to the Sartan. "We'd all like to find her as quickly as we can."

Delu and Dumaka broke apart. Mourning or not, they were still the king and queen. They had come here to find their daughter, their princess. It would be wrong of them to stand around weeping while their people (and Alfred) searched for her body.

Unfortunately, the body wasn't too hard to find.

The dragon-snakes had left Alake's corpse where it had fallen. They wanted it to be found- and no wonder. It had been mutilated so badly that several soldiers, hardened by battle, found themselves retching.

Alfred was tempted to follow suit. Save for the face, which had been left untouched, the- the- the _thing_ before him bore no resemblance to a human being. It reminded him of Haplo's parents when the snogs were through with them, but it was ten times worse. A hundred times worse.

Understandably, neither of Alake's poor parents could bear seeing their beautiful daughter reduced to this. They broke down, fell to their knees. Tears streamed down their faces, falling into the sand.

The soldiers who hadn't gone away to vomit exchanged nervous glances. None of them wanted to touch the horrible corpse, not when its skin had been flayed away and- they didn't want to look at it, didn't want to see what had been done to it.

Alfred hesitated, then shook himself. He had the power to… not make things right… but to make things better, less horrible for the poor parents and soldiers and for everyone who would attend Alake's funeral. Softly, gently, he began to sing and dance the runes.

The human soldiers watched him suspiciously. A couple touched their weapons, but Dumaka shook his head at them and they lowered their hands. The king had seen what Sartan magic could do.

The song ended, the spell complete. Alake's body, though still dead, was whole, untouched by mutilation. Alfred had even provided her with new clothing, a cream-colored linen wrap that served to protect her modesty.

Delu's sobs redoubled. She grabbed her daughter's corpse, hugged it tight.

The captain of the guard hated to interrupt his grieving queen, but his job was to keep the remaining royals alive. He couldn't do that if an army of dragon-snakes took advantage of their distraction and attacked. "Majesty," he said quietly, "I believe that we should leave." He glanced significantly towards the bowels of the cave.

"You're right, of course," Delu rasped. She stood. Her husband knelt down, gently picked up Alake's body.

The ride back was equally silent, though a bit less awkward. Alake's body was placed in the center of the ship. Delu knelt next to it. Her eyes were closed, her hands clasped in prayer. Her lips worked silently, as did the lips of her husband. Alfred had little knowledge of Chelestran mortuary customs, but he imagined that they were beseeching the One for their daughter's well-being in the afterlife.

Finally they arrived back at the colony. A huge crowd of people was standing by the shore or even in the shallower part of the ocean, awaiting their princess's return. Not to mention they were concerned for their monarchs, afraid that the dragon-snakes had killed them. A cheer, subdued but heartfelt, arose from their throats, when they saw Delu and Dumaka climb out of the ship. Then the cheer died, for the royals were bearing their daughter's cold corpse.

Not a word more was spoken.

By this point, Alfred was rather desperate to leave. He was an outsider, a stranger, and the reason that Alake was lifeless and still in her parents' arms. If he had gotten there sooner, worked a little harder….

He sighed.

And even if it hadn't been at least partially his fault, he had other obligations to attend to. He had to find Orla, beg her not to go to war. For his people's sake, for the Patryns' sake, for the sake of the mensch- it would be an abomination for Sartan to fight against them, even without the dragon-snakes. Samah should focus on the Sartan's problems before making more, he reflected bitterly. Hopefully Orla could make him see sense.

He mumbled his excuses to the curious human courtiers crowding around him, asking what had happened on the journey. Some of them were jealous that he, an unknown Sartan, had gone with the king and queen when they, children of noblemen, had not. Their jealousy was foolish, petty, but Alfred managed not to say that to their faces. Instead, he beat a hasty retreat to Haplo's quarters and went to work on a pair of spells.

During the stasis sleep, Alfred had aged, but the possibility existed that he had not grown any older. He simply invoked that possibility, and suddenly he had to be a good ten or fifteen years younger. His features were less worn and lined, his hands more graceful, his head more covered. The bemused Sartan ran a hand through his new hair- he'd forgotten just how much his younger self had possessed. It felt downright bizarre to have something on his scalp, much less so great a quantity. His new form, combined with the white robe he'd tailored for himself, would guarantee that no one in the Chalice could recognize him.

It was, quite frankly, a fairly brilliant disguise. All the other Sartan thought of Alfred as 'that old bald man who insists on wearing mensch clothes.' Take away the old, the bald, and the mensch clothes, and they'd have no idea who he was. Probably. He might be in trouble if they came close enough to really see his face, but if he walked fast enough that probably wouldn't happen.

There was just one problem, as Alfred discovered when he took a step forward and tripped over the hem of his robe.

For a moment he lay there, sprawled out on the floor, unable to believe that he'd overlooked something so stupidly obvious. How could he have forgotten his clumsiness?

And more importantly, how could he defeat it?

Alfred lifted himself into a sitting position. He was graceful enough when he used magic- more than graceful- but he obviously couldn't sing and dance his way through the citadel. He needed to blend in, not draw attention to himself. So that was out of the question.

Or was it? Frowning, Alfred hummed to himself. He focused on the music, a simple spell that all Sartan children learned. Then he rose to his feet and walked around the room.

He didn't stumble once.

A grin nearly split the Sartan's face. He had his disguise.

* * *

><p>"Xar will not be pleased," Haplo muttered, staring into Death's Gate. At his side, the dog whined his agreement.<p>

"But what else can I do?" he continued. "Come on, boy. Let's go."

Their ship drifted towards the hole in reality. As always, the sensation of approaching the gate was dizzying, disorienting. Haplo didn't know if he and the dog and their vessel were shrinking to accommodate the hole or if Death's Gate was growing larger, like a mouth opening wider and wider until it swallowed them whole. Nor did he much care- all he knew was that he could enter it.

The Patryn lay down, waiting to fall unconscious. Any second now the chaos would come, crushing his mind until it sought refuge in sleep.

But the blackness never came. Haplo passed through Death's Gate perfectly conscious, completely awake.

As he guided the ship down to the Nexus, he wondered what had happened. His conclusion was as horrible as it was inevitable: Samah had opened Death's Gate.

He saw, once again, the lazar tearing through the Nexus. He saw his people fighting Samah's forces, a war that grew to consume all the worlds. He saw the dragon-snakes slithering through Pryan, Abarrach, Arianus. He saw tytans smashing the Kiksey-winsey to bits.

Haplo swore.

The dog whined.

This changed everything- and nothing. His task was the same: to warn Lord Xar about the dragon-snakes before they reached him, seduced him like they had seduced Haplo.

"That, or die trying," the Patryn muttered, and flew down to the Nexus.

* * *

><p>This chapter proves two things about Alfred: first, he should never be underestimated. Second, he makes excellent dragon-snake repellant.<p>

Next up: Alfred visits the Chalice, and/or Haplo talks with Xar.

-Antares


	5. Chapter 5

How to infiltrate a Sartan citadel in five easy steps: 1) Put on robe. 2) Put on wig (or magical equivalent thereof). 3) Walk in. 4) Accomplish mission. 5) Walk out. (This method was discovered and utilized by Alfred Montbank.)

* * *

><p><em>Do ti la ti re mi re, do re do, sol sol la ti sol fa mi do….<em>

When sung with the correct runes, the short melody Alfred was humming would create a simple ward for one's bedroom. It would be nothing more than a polite warning, a kindly voice asking intruders to leave this room alone, please. It was an easy spell, so easy that Alfred barely had to think about it. Instead, he could think about how stupid he was for not thinking of this technique years earlier.

He'd always known that magic made him more graceful, sloughing off his disguise and bringing him closer to the man- the mage- he was supposed to be. So why hadn't he taken the next logical step, tricking his body into believing that it was about to cast a spell, forcing the grace to come whenever he pleased?

Probably because he knew the technique wouldn't work for long if he did that. Eventually his body would realize that it was being deceived, so it would stop cooperating. Probably at the worst possible time, too.

_Repeat the song. Do ti la ti re mi re…._

Miraculously (or perhaps not), his disguise was working. No one had approached him or even looked at him oddly. When they did look at him, it was only a brief glance before realizing that this brother was not someone they knew, not someone they should speak with. Besides, the unusually tall man was obviously lost in thought. It would be rude to go up and speak with him.

_Do re do…._

Alfred had already stopped by Orla's dwelling. She hadn't been there, something which filled him with foolish anxiety. He knew he was being ridiculous- what could possibly have happened to Orla? She was obviously just at a Council meeting or visiting friends- but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was horribly wrong. But instead of giving heed to his instincts- instincts which had alerted him to Haplo's heritage, which had seen right through the dragon-snakes' disguises, which had kept him from approaching Prince Edmund's people on Abarrach- Alfred mulishly ignored them. Reason told him that Orla was fine, for what could have happened to a Sartan among her own people?

Soon he had arrived at the Council building. Smiling benignly, still humming, he approached a young servitor. "Pardon me, sister," he said, "but is Orla here?"

The woman's eyes widened, filled with fear. Fear he had seen before whenever the heretics were mentioned.

Alfred's heart skipped a beat. The smile froze on his face.

The servitor recovered. "The Council decided earlier today to send her to another world."

"Oh?" By some miracle, Alfred kept his voice light, pleasant. Inside, though, he was screaming. "Do you know when she will be back? I really do need to speak with her."

"You'll have to speak with Samah, then, because she won't return for quite a while." Reasonable words, the kind of thing she'd say even if the world wasn't horribly wrong. "Samah and the Council should be finished soon. You can wait here, brother, until they're finished."

"Oh, no," Alfred gulped.

Fortunately, the servitor mistook the cause of his discomfort. "If you don't wish to speak with Samah himself, there are other Councillors. I know that Ramu has been elected to fill his mother's post-"

Black spots danced on the edge of Alfred's vision. The world tilted crazily. He was hot and cold all over, sweating and freezing at the same time. It was like passing through Death's Gate again.

Ramu had been elected to fill his mother's post. Merciful Sartan, what had happened to Orla?

"Brother? Brother?" The servitor was shaking him, driving away the blackness. "Are you all right? Are you ill?"

"Just surprised," he managed to reply. "But I'd really prefer to speak with Orla in person."

"I'm afraid that won't be possible," the servitor replied. She frowned, suddenly suspicious. "Why did you want to speak with her? Perhaps I can help."

"It's a personal matter," he explained. "Orla and I are friends, you see, and I had a rather personal request for her." He shot her that same sickly smile- a smile that was less convincing by the minute.

The woman tilted her head, squinted. Then she gave an almost imperceptible shrug. The suspicion faded from her eyes.

Sartan could not lie. Sartan could not deceive their brethren. And how was she to know that this tall, white-haired, white-robed brother was not really one of her kindred?

"I will tell Samah and Ramu that you stopped by," the young servitor told him. "What did you say your name was, brother?"

"I didn't," he replied. His heart had slowed almost to its normal rate. She didn't know. She hadn't recognized him. Samah wouldn't come running out of the Council chamber, face livid with rage, and capture him for some horrible fate. "Illiel."

It was his father's name, so the images conjured up by speaking it were close enough to his own face to avoid suspicion. The young servitor simply smiled, nodded, and promised to tell Samah and Ramu that Orla's friend Illiel wanted to speak with her when she got back. Hopefully Orla didn't actually have a friend named Illiel, because that would cause problems. But if she did, there was nothing Alfred could do about it.

_Do ti la…._ Humming, his face plastered with an increasingly difficult-to-maintain smile, Alfred walked out of the Council building. He continued walking for another two blocks before collapsing into a conveniently placed bench.

Orla was gone. Gone. But he'd promised Haplo that he would find Orla, and he had to. He had to stop the war before the Patryns hunted his people to extinction (or perhaps vice versa. Or perhaps both, for their races were meant to balance each other out). And that meant he had to find Orla.

But she's on another world! She could literally be anywhere: Abarrach, Pryan, Arianus. And those worlds are so large, so unfamiliar (except the last), so frightening. Or perhaps (he shuddered, cold and clammy as a corpse) the world they sent her to was the land of the dead. Maybe that's what happened to the heretics. Maybe they were all executed. Maybe that's why she's not coming back.

Alfred whimpered softly. He remembered the crystal tombs, his beautiful dead people. Not again. Not again. Please, _not again._

But he didn't know for certain if she was dead. He didn't know _what _had happened to her.

Except Orla was a heretic. Therefore, it stood to reason that she had suffered the same punishment as the other heretics. Alfred had no idea what that punishment might be- but he knew where he could find out.

* * *

><p>"So, Haplo, my son. Once again you let the Sartan escape."<p>

The younger Patryn barely restrained himself from flinching away. He wanted to hide his face, to cower away from his lord's wrath. In other words, he thought bitterly, to be like Alfred.

The thought of ending up like _that_ steeled his resolve. "My lord. Father. Last time our people went to war with the Sartan, we lost horribly. We were banished to the Labyrinth- you know this, lord. And now-"

Xar raised a hand. Haplo fell silent.

For a long time (or so it seemed to Haplo), silence reigned. Xar stared at his surrogate son, the emissary he had trusted more than any other man. His head tilted slightly to the side. His face was blank as uncarved stone.

Then, at long last, he nodded slowly. "You truly believe this," he observed. "You truly believe that there can be peace between us and the Sartan, just as there is peace between you and this serpent mage of yours."

"Yes, lord."

Xar's countenance darkened, black and ominous as a thundercloud. "You truly believe that there can be peace between our people and the very Sartan who created the Labyrinth in the first place! You believe that we can and will forgive the men and women who consigned thousands of our people to death, exile, torture, pain, fear! Your parents, Haplo- the Sartan killed them. The child you might have sired- perhaps dead, eaten alive by one of the Sartans' monstrous creations. You _truly believe_ that we can make peace with the greatest monsters of all!"

By the time his speech was over, the lord was shouting. He stood, towered over Haplo, who remained in his seat, head bowed. At the younger Patryn's side, the dog's entire body went stiff. He was ready to defend his master, even if his master didn't want to be defended.

"You are a fool," Xar concluded contemptuously.

This time Haplo couldn't stop himself from flinching away. A protest rose to his lips- no, Lord, I speak the truth!- but he quashed it ruthlessly. Xar would not listen- and Haplo didn't, couldn't blame him. Even now, he too wanted Samah dead, broken, like the thousands of Patryns he had condemned.

The dog whimpered, nosed his master's leg. A slobbery tongue licked Haplo's hand.

The Patryn looked up once more. "Lord, you sent me to the mensch realms because you trusted my judgment. Perhaps I am a fool to sue for a ceasefire between our people and the Sartan, but I am not a fool to warn you against the dragon-snakes. They are monsters, worse than anything in the Labyrinth. I fear that they will use you as they used me, only to betray you in the end."

Xar arched a brow. "Funny," he sneered. "The ones I have met told me that they only betrayed you after you failed to kill your Sartan friend Alfred."

Haplo froze, paralyzed in horror. _The ones I have met…._

He saw then and there that he was too late, that Xar was already firmly on the monsters' side. Perhaps Xar didn't see the beasts for what they were, was honestly deceived by their seductive promises. Or perhaps (the thought made Haplo's mouth go dry) he _did_ see. Perhaps he simply didn't care, was too blinded by his hate to care that when the Sartan were gone, his servants would turn on him.

"They told me that the man lay unconscious at your feet, ripe for the picking, yet you did nothing. No, my son, you did worse than nothing- you saved him, dragged him away." Xar's voice was icy, cold, glacial. "Explain."

"My lord, as I said to the dragon-snakes, I didn't know what Alfred was doing there. He might have been sent by Samah, though I admit it was much more likely that he had come on his own. Saving him was also an excuse- I was already beginning to distrust the dragon-snakes. I intended to leave the dog behind, eavesdrop on them through its ears, find out if they were as loyal as they claimed."

Xar's mouth tightened. Haplo hurried on. "It did not work, obviously. They sent the dog back with me. Then Samah arrived. You know the rest, lord."

"Yes. I do."

Haplo had the nasty feeling that he had just lost all of Xar's trust.

"What am I to do with you?" the older Patryn murmured. He sized Haplo up, weighed him in the balance.

Haplo didn't answer. What could he say?

"Leave me for a while," Xar ordered finally.

"Yes, lord." Haplo walked away.

His master didn't send anyone to guard the younger Patryn. He didn't need to, or so he hoped.

If Haplo had been corrupted enough already that he would abandon his lord's judgment, then Xar could not redeem him. And oh, he dearly wanted to bring Haplo back into the fold.

* * *

><p>Orla was numb inside, frozen, like the glaciers from which her people had fled had finally caught up to her. Like a corpse would feel.<p>

Her magic was gone, dispersed into the ether. Her husband and son had forsaken her- no, worse than that, actively sent her away! The man she loved (why bother denying it? she asked herself cynically. You know it's true. And who here will chastise you for it?) was missing, perhaps taken to the Nexus by that Patryn man he insisted on trusting. And she was helpless, alone, bereft of her people, the only living creature in the Vortex.

She would be alone for the rest of her life.

Orla knew that all her material desires would be fulfilled. She could eat, sleep, drink, to her heart's content. The selection of books would be rather limited- she was a voracious reader; the Vortex's meager store wouldn't last her long- but she could survive.

But did she want to?

Sartan lived in groups, in cities, surrounded by others of their own kind. They were simply not meant to live alone.

Perhaps, if she'd had some company or hope- both, preferably- Orla would have held on longer. But she was alone, bereft of hope- she knew full well that no one could escape the Labyrinth from the Vortex- and so she did not.

* * *

><p>...THE PLOT BUNNIES MADE ME! THEY MADE ME! I'm sorry, Orla, Alfred... but that would just be too easy, you know? A Sartan leader actually working for peace. And- and - blame the plot bunnies! They held a knife to my throat and made me. They're evil, I tell you- evil!<p>

But, on a slightly happier note, Xar doesn't want to murder Haplo. That's good, right? Right? Even if he is conspiring with dragon-snakes about who-knows-what.

Also, random thought while I was writing this: Xar is Bane's 'grandfather' and Haplo's 'father.' Does that make Haplo Bane's uncle?

-Antares


	6. Chapter 6

"I've gone mad," Alfred muttered, rushing through the Sartan library. The _forbidden_ Sartan library. He'd already been here, and he'd gotten into so much trouble. Coming here had gotten him hauled before the Council of Seven, for the ancestors' sake!

And yet, here he was again, having broken into it with the exact same method- Samah really should have added better security to the roof. Alfred had _told_ him exactly how the library's security had been breached, but did the other man listen? No. So in a way, Alfred rationalized wildly, Samah deserved to have someone break into his library. It was his own fault for not taking more precautions.

But back to his original point (his thoughts tended to ramble when he was afraid, and he was certainly afraid now): here he was, bustling through the forbidden library, making a beeline for the exact same book which had gotten him into so much trouble. That book, he felt certain, was the reason that the library was closed to the public.

Maybe Samah had taken precautions. Maybe he had removed it. Maybe it wasn't- nope, it was there all right.

Alfred's lips twisted bitterly. Of course it was there. Who but an utter madman would disobey Samah's decree?

It had been many, many days since he last opened that book, but he still remembered the page number, the paragraph, the sentence he'd been reading when Orla interrupted him. But he certainly wasn't going to stop and read the book _here_. No, that was foolishness. He may be mad, but he was not (despite what Haplo might claim) a fool. No, he would take the book and-

The Sartan paused. He had been about to transport away when a stray thought crossed his mind. To his horror, he found himself considering it. He tried telling himself to let it go, to move, to leave, but his body was frozen to the spot.

"I _am_ mad," he breathed, eyes wide with horror as he watched his hands reach out and sign through the runes of replication. He- or rather, the stranger in control of his body, because _he_ certainly wasn't creating copies of every book on that shelf- sang softly, danced. Soft white robes fluttered around his feet. It was strange to dance in them again, uncomfortable, really. He was far too accustomed to mensch clothing.

But his distracted thoughts on what he was wearing did nothing to detract from his magic's power. A few moments later, the entire shelf had been replicated. Another quick spell and the duplicate books (including a copy of the Council's notes) had been sent to Eliason's study.

"A traitor," Alfred gasped. Sweat sheened his brow, matted the brown tips of his hair to his head. He ran to another shelf. _Government. _"Insane. Corrupt!"

Twenty-nine brand-new books on how the Sartan dealt with their mensch 'children' fell to the floor. Alfred sang, hands twisting gracefully, and the duplicate books vanished.

"Mad, mad, mad," he chanted, heading towards another area.

In the end, it was not a return of self-control that made Alfred cease his magic. It was simply the thought that Eliason's study was already cramped, and he probably couldn't fit many more books into it. Not to mention that the emperor had probably noticed the new additions to his library by now and would want an explanation. With that in mind, he sang a song of transportation. Moments later, he stood with the books in Eliason's study.

The elf's guards, seeing a Sartan in full regalia, grabbed their swords. Alfred shrieked, covered his head, fell onto his back. "Don't!"

Eliason tilted his head. He recognized that voice. "Alfred Montbank?" he asked, uncertain.

The Sartan nodded, still cowering behind his arms. "I'm in disguise," he explained pathetically. "I had to get into the city to find Orla, and this seemed the best way. But it wasn't, because Orla wasn't there. She's been sent away to… I don't know where. One of these books knows where, but I don't."

The emperor gestured to his guards. They lowered their weapons. "This Orla is the woman who desires peace?"

Slowly, cautiously, Alfred lowered his arms, pushed himself to his feet. He did not, however, take his eyes from the guards. He'd had enough bad experiences with guards to distrust them. "Yes," he replied. "And she has the power to bring it about. Or she would, if she hadn't been banished. Or killed." He shuddered. "I don't know. I don't think they killed her, but… that might just be wistful thinking."

Now that he had left his peoples' citadel, he was uncomfortably aware of how very Sartan he looked. White hair tipped in brown, white robe trailing down to his feet. Taller than any dwarf, without the pointed ears and slanted features of an elf, paler than any human here on Chelestra. He stuck out like a sore thumb.

It did not help that the guards were still staring at him.

To busy himself and take his mind off their attention, Alfred dug through the books for the one he needed. As he searched, he mumbled, "I went to the library. I knew that one of the books in it could tell me what happened to Orla. I know which one, too, and really had no intention of bringing all these with. But I…did." He found the book, clutched it to his chest. "I thought it would help you understand their point of view," he finished, not meeting the emperor's eyes.

"Thank you," Eliason said warmly. Then, to the guards, "This man is Haplo's friend, and the one who went with Delu and Dumaka to retrieve Alake. I promise you that he won't hurt me or magic me away."

"Of course not," Alfred agreed quickly. "Though I certainly understand why you would…." He trailed off, realizing that the guards probably wouldn't appreciate his babbling. Blushing, he yanked his robe's hood over his head, hid his face.

He really should have transported to Haplo's quarters instead. That way, he could have returned to his regular form and garb before retrieving 'his' book from the emperor's library. But by teleporting to Eliason's quarters, he guaranteed an awkward journey back to Haplo's room.

He had stood out enough as an old man dressed in mensch clothes. Now, tripping every three steps and clad in Sartan white, he attracted a crowd which actually followed him back to the room.

It was embarrassing, that was what it was. And he didn't like it!

Alfred shut the door behind him with a sigh of relief. He flung off his robe, donned his mensch clothes, and reverted to his usual form before collapsing onto the floor. "Never again," the Sartan moaned.

He lay there for a few moments before his anxiety over Orla returned full force. What if she was on Abarrach being attacked by lazar? What if she'd fallen into the Fire Sea? What if something had happened to her on Arianus or Pryan- he didn't know what hazards existed on the World of Fire, but he could imagine all too well what might have happened to her.

With that in mind, the Sartan paged through his book. If he could just find which world she'd gone to, then he could get to her before something bad happened. She couldn't possibly have gotten too far from Death's Gate.

A few minutes later, the book slid from Alfred's limp, nerveless hands. Shaking, he covered his eyes.

Shadowy, half-formed memories that were not his own assailed him. Memories of the Labyrinth, the horrid torture chamber his people had created to 'rehabilitate'- break- their enemies. The remembrances were vague, more emotional than concrete fact, a cocktail of fear and horror and hate and desperation and painful hope and hopelessness….

"Not my memories," he whispered. "I'm Alfred, not Haplo." He swallowed several times, wiped at his sweaty pate with a handkerchief.

But though the memories did not belong to him, he didn't doubt their truthfulness. He knew in his bones what life was like in the Labyrinth- and that fear was from a man who had grown up there, a man in full possession of his magic, a man who could detect danger! According to the book, Orla would have been stripped of her magical power. There was no way she could survive.

Alfred knew that he was, quite frankly, the worst man for this job. He was a coward, a clumsy bumbling oaf. He didn't belong in the Labyrinth. Anyone would be better suited to saving Orla.

But he didn't have anyone else. Haplo was in the Nexus and had problems of his own. Samah and Ramu, Orla's _husband_ and _son,_ were the ones who had banished her. None of the other Sartan on Chelestra would believe Alfred's wild tale- they'd arrest him on sight, hand him over to the Council. That was one surefire way of getting to the Labyrinth, but Alfred would prefer it if he knew the way out.

"I really have gone mad," he moaned.

But mad or not, he would do everything in his power to free Orla. Even if he would really rather cower in a corner somewhere. With that in mind, he formulated a plan.

He cut a deal with the first ruler he came across- Hilda Heavybeard. If he used his magic to create twenty new submarines (she reassured him that Chelestra's water had no effect on duplicates, so long as they were created on dry land. Haplo's many experiments had confirmed this), he could use one as his ship. It wouldn't be the ideal vessel for journeying through Death's Gate- that would be an elven dragon-ship- but it would work.

Unfortunately, their conversation took place in a rather public location. Dwarves did not believe in politicians who discussed every last thing behind closed doors. So by the time Alfred had been led to the ships Hilda wanted him to replicate, a decent-sized crowd had come to gawk at the oh-so-exotic Sartan. In one way, that was a good thing, because there were enough workers to pull a ship ashore. In all the other ways, it was bad. It made Alfred uncomfortably aware of his old fears, the same terrors which had led him to play human.

But a deal was a deal, and he had to save Orla. So, trying not to think about his audience, he sang the runes of replication. Moments later, twenty-one ships crowded the shore.

The mensch applauded, nearly startling poor Alfred out of his skin. He flushed to the roots of his hair, mortified by their praise.

"I don't suppose we could keep you?" Hilda asked wistfully.

"I'm afraid not, High- I'm sorry, Hilda." After years at Queen Anne's court, it felt downright bizarre to address a monarch by her first name.

"I thought not," she chuckled. "But if you ever need a career, feel free to come back. Your people seem to think we all need Sartan advisors." A wicked grin split her face. "Technically, you _could_ become ours, and there wouldn't be a blame thing they could do about it."

"I'll keep that in mind," Alfred promised, touched by her offer.

"You'd better," she instructed gruffly. "Now go. Your friend Orla won't save herself."

"I know. Thank you."

He spent his journey inscribing runes of flight and speed into the inner walls. As long as they didn't actually get wet, they would be fine. All too soon, he had arrived at the mouth of Death's Gate. Steering his new ship into the hole, Alfred hoped desperately that he wasn't too late.

* * *

><p>A spy. A dishonorable, cowardly spy.<p>

Marit had no idea what she had done to deserve such a fate. She had not served her lord in special missions like Haplo had, but she hadn't been disloyal, either. She practically worshipped the older Patryn, would do anything he asked.

Even this. Even spy on Haplo, hide herself away in his ship, ascertain whether or not he was a traitor. A traitor. Another Patryn- a traitor.

But, she reminded herself, Lord Xar isn't sure. That's why he wants me to stow away on Haplo's ship. If ever I feel that Haplo truly can be trusted, then I will be allowed to reveal myself to him. If not….

She grimaced. The thought of killing another Patryn, of ferrying his corpse across the worlds, was utterly repugnant to her. And no wonder: it was a repugnant thought for more than one reason.

Already Haplo was preparing to leave. He had to stop by Chelestra first, according to Xar. He had to maintain his ties with the ruling families by attending the funeral of a chieftain's daughter. Then Haplo, his dog, his stowaway, and that Bane kid would return to the World of Air to further prepare it for her lord's coming.

Marit would have greatly preferred it if Bane had been given the task of spy, but she understood her lord's choice. The kid was only human, though admittedly a rather cunning one (at least from what she'd heard). If Haplo truly was a traitor, it would take another Patryn to bring him back.

So in a way, Marit told herself, it was an honor to be chosen as Xar's spy, however dishonorable spying might be. It meant that he trusted her opinions, believed that she wouldn't let past sentimentality cloud her judgment. So her selection was really a compliment. It _was_. She refused to let herself believe otherwise.

Xar had, in preparation for the coming invasion/migration, commissioned a number of ships. Most of these copied elven designs from Arianus, but one of the most recent was a copy of Haplo's new submarine. Marit passed that particular ship, making her way into an unadorned blue dragon-ship. This would be Haplo's base for the next few weeks, and, by extension, hers. And Bane's, too, but she wasn't really concerned about him. It was the dog that worried her.

As a spy, one of her duties would be avoiding discovery. That would have been difficult enough if she'd only had to worry about a Patryn and a human. Dogs, though… it would take an almost-constant application of magic to hide her scent and the sound of her heartbeat from the mutt. Everyone knew that dogs had excellent senses. And what if someone came upon her when she was sleeping? That would warrant a great deal of explaining.

Marit scowled, angry at herself for slipping so easily into a spy's mindset. But what else could she do? She owed Xar her life. He commanded; she obeyed.

Even if she would really rather not.

* * *

><p>The logic behind Marit showing up now and un-'married' as opposed to how she did in Book 6? 1. Xar is being a bit more sensible. He knows that Haplo <em>might<em> not be on his side, but he doesn't know for certain yet. Ergo, a spy. 2. If Haplo is a traitor, this way Marit will learn stuff about Arianus that could come in handy later. 3. Marit gets more screen time to develop as a character. Also, more 3-way interactions with Alfred. : ) 4. The marriage thing was creepy, and I didn't like it. 5. If you're going to do an AU, what's the point of following the books word for word? None at all, that what!

Next up: Alfred has an adventure in the Labyrinth. Haplo leaves the Nexus, oblivious to his stowaway.

-Antares


	7. Chapter 7

Patryns were, with very good reason, terrified of the Final Gate. It was tied to the worst memories of their lives, to incidents when they had almost died or been tortured or given up hope or…. The list of almosts went on and on. The point was, Xar was the only Patryn who had ever managed to reenter the Final Gate. Everyone else was too scared.

Alfred was not a Patryn. Besides, he didn't intend to go into the Labyrinth for long. All he had to do was peek in, memorize what the inside of the Gate looked like, and pop out. Then he could fly back into Death's Gate (which, judging from the ease with which he'd traveled through it, was now open), using the portal to head for the Vortex. Then he could fetch Orla, transport her to the Final Gate, and sprint through it before anything nasty could eat them. If he left his ship hidden in the Nexus, using his own gift of magical flight to access the Vortex, then he and Orla would have a way back to Chelestra.

It was, in all honesty, a fairly decent plan. He wouldn't be in the Labyrinth long enough for it to kill him (unless he was very, very unlucky). Neither was Orla, who probably hadn't left the Vortex yet.

That's not to say he didn't approach the Final Gate without trepidation. He wasn't exactly a brave man, and, had he expected his excursion into the Labyrinth to last more than a few minutes, he might not have scrounged up the courage at all. But it wouldn't take long for him to memorize the environment, and then it was back to the Nexus for him.

Any Patryn who saw the cowardly Sartan stick his head through the Gate would have been mortified.

But though Alfred was not afraid (well, not very), the Labyrinth more than made up for his lack of fear. It had no eyes with which to see the Sartan, but it could sense the… _thing_ observing its domain. The creature was practically made of magic, which radiated from him like light from the sun.

Fortunately, Alfred got out of the Labyrinth before it recovered from its shock (shock which was, in its mind, quite justified. How often did someone powerful enough to make Xar look like a child stop by?) to kill him. However, the Serpent Mage's two-minute scouting trip was enough to set the prison maze on its guard. Best send something nasty to the Final Gate, just in case he decides to come back….

Alfred, oblivious to the plot against his life, sang the spell of flight and zoomed up into Death's Gate. Moments later, he touched down in the Vortex. The Sartan gazed about, half-expecting to see Orla then and there.

He did, just not in the way he'd expected.

The air drained from Alfred's lungs. He felt dizzy, hot, faint.

Maybe she was sleeping. Yes, that was reasonable. Of course she was sleeping. There was no way she-

"Orla?" he called, voice quavering. "Orla, it's me, Alfr-" No, she deserved better than that. "-Coren." It was the first time he'd spoken his name for centuries. The word tasted strange on his tongue. "I'm here to save you."

The Sartan woman did not stir.

Alfred flashed back to another day. He'd been so full of hope then too, only to be let down so horribly.

"Please wake up." His voice broke on the last word. Sick dread curdled in his belly. Hands trembled, shoulders shook. "Please, Orla. Wake up." He half-walked, half-ran over to her prone form.

And let out a sob.

Knowing it was hopeless- nightmares were always hopeless, always horrible- he grabbed her by the shoulders, shook her back and forth. "Wake up. Orla, wake up!" No answer. She flopped back and forth, limp as a rag doll, limp as the corpse she was.

"_Wake up!_"

This had happened before. Back on Arianus. He'd been so hopeful then, climbing out of his tomb (I never should have left), only to see that hope shattered in the worst way possible. Then he'd pounded at the other coffins' sides, screaming for their residents to wake up, wake up, _wake_ _up_!

But they never had. And neither did Orla.

Alfred stumbled backwards from the corpse, fell to his back. Ragged sobs tore at his throat. Tears filled his eyes, blinding him.

Not again. Not again. Please, I'll do anything. Just not again.

But, short of practicing the foul arts of Abarrach, there was nothing he could do, no way to placate the fates which had done this to her.

Alfred hugged his knees to his chest and wept until he could weep no more. Then, exhausted, he lay in the same pathetic heap, slowly releasing his knees. His pants were soaked with tears, his eyes red and swollen.

When he woke, many hours later, from his misery-induced slumber, it was only to find that no, this hadn't been a nightmare. That nearly made him cry again, except by that point he was too dehydrated to weep. Thoroughly wretched, the Sartan went through the motions of a living man: he conjured water for himself, drank, sat back down. He stared dully at nothing in particular for a few long moments, then braced himself and glanced over at the dead woman. At Orla.

It seemed wrong to leave her lying there, crumpled on the floor like a discarded toy. More than seemed: it was wrong. Very wrong. But what could he do? He certainly wouldn't bring her back to her family, the two traitors who had sent her here. They didn't deserve her.

He briefly entertained the thought of taking her to Arianus, of laying her to rest in his own coffin. But then where would he sleep? After her death, he had no intention of going on. He just… couldn't care anymore.

But thoughts of home brought an idea to mind. He sang softly, mournfully, and a crystal tomb sprang into being. How fitting that all his loved ones rested in the same type of tomb….

Alfred sighed heavily, feeling every one of his nine centuries, even the ones he'd slept through. Weary beyond measure, wanting only to sleep, the Sartan trudged out into the Labyrinth. He sang. The magic comforted him slightly, like warm arms wrapping around him, like someone holding him close. But he was still gloomy as he transported to the Final Gate.

The Sartan was so distracted that he didn't notice the large and rather conspicuous red dragon standing guard until he'd finished his transportation spell. Fortunately, the dragon was rather surprised itself- it certainly hadn't expected a Sartan to materialize out of nowhere.

Neither had the bleeding Patryn woman it held in its claws.

For a moment, the three stared at each other: dragon and Patryn at Sartan, and Sartan at both of them. But of course, such a moment could not hope to last.

The woman recovered first. She yanked the knife- one of her own, which the dragon had shoved into her shoulder- from its fleshy sheath and stabbed it into one of the few unprotected parts of her captor's body: the delicate skin between its fingers. The monster yelped in startled pain, dropping her to the ground.

If it hadn't tried to kill the woman, get her out of the way before going after the more exotic and therefore more interesting prey, Alfred would probably have fainted. But the dragon attacked the Patryn, a helpless victim about to die.

Alfred was tired of life, but he was even more tired of people dying around him. Not to mention that Coren was still very close to the surface. A chant rose unbidden to the Sartan's lips. The Labyrinth dragon snorted, tried to brush aside the magic… but could not. Its enemy had put the full force of his considerable strength behind the spell, a spell more than capable of destroying even a feared dragon.

All that was left of the beast were a few dozen red scales and a charred skeleton.

Alfred stared in mute shock at the result of his spell. The Patryn stared in mute shock at this very… _odd_-looking, plainly-not-another-Patryn man who had just killed the most feared monster in the Labyrinth. Then Alfred realized that the woman was staring at him. He jumped guiltily, stared at her in wide-eyed fright. Unlike Haplo, this Patryn had no reason to keep him alive. Therefore she would probably try to kill him any moment now.

So he did what he always did in dangerous situations. He fainted.

Erri, the Runner who had just barely escaped a monster's claws, pushed herself to her feet. Her body ached all over, but long years of experience let her ignore the pain. Still, she was a great deal slower than normal as she stumbled towards the strange man with excellent timing.

The strange _Sartan_ man who had, for some (doubtless twisted) reason of his own, decided to save her.

Her jaw tightened.

Like other Patryns who had yet to leave the Labyrinth, Erri knew nothing of the mensch. She had never heard of humans or elves or dwarves, just the rivals of her people. Just the creators of the prison maze. Just the beings who had consigned her ancestors and all their descendants to this foul pit.

Oh, yes. She very much looked forward to asking this Sartan a few questions.

A quick glance at her runes revealed that there wasn't any danger nearby. No surprise. Of course the maze wouldn't want to harm its-

Erri's eyes went wide. This skinny man couldn't possibly be the jailer himself, could he? But of course he had to be, because who else could access the Labyrinth so easily?

That, of course, made her even more interested in talking to him. She had quite a few questions for the jailer in charge of the Labyrinth's punishments. Many, many questions, few of which the Sartan would enjoy answering.

But she couldn't carry him to the safety of the Nexus. He was too large; she was too weak from blood loss and exhaustion. So she poked him with her one unbroken knife and snapped, "Get up."

Her order would have been a lot more impressive if her voice hadn't cracked with pain.

The Sartan didn't seem to notice her weakness, only her knife. He scurried to his feet. "Could… could you put that away, please? I'm rather clumsy."

Erri snorted. Like she'd ever disarm herself in the presence of an enemy. "Move," she barked.

Alfred moved.

Fortunately for both of them, the Final Gate was only a few steps away. Alfred only tripped once, just after they got out. Unfortunately, he ended up knocking Erri down as he fell (though he did manage not to accidentally slit his own throat on her knife). Had Erri been less weak from her fight with the dragon, she could have caught him, but she was exhausted, dizzy.

"I'm sorry!" the Sartan yelped, rolling aside. Then, more quietly, "Are you all right?"

Erri pushed herself up, trying to ignore the pain wracking her body. Her instincts cried out for the healing sleep, to sew up her wounds and replenish her blood, but there was no way she would sleep anywhere near a Sartan. Bad enough that she was obviously weak (she could barely bring herself to her feet), but to let an enemy see her at her most vulnerable? It wasn't going to happen. "Don't touch me."

The Sartan shrank in on himself. "All right."

Surprisingly (to Erri, at least), the Sartan didn't try to flee. He hovered nearby, watching her like a foolish-looking hawk. This, of course, only served to raise the hairs on Erri's neck. Why wasn't the Sartan running away? Was he stupid? Leading her into a trap? Whatever his reasons, she didn't like it. Nor did she like it when he observed, "You're hurt. Do you want me to-"

"The only thing I want you to do is answer some questions," she growled. "Are you the jailer?"

"No!" Alfred was horrified, sickened by the thought. She couldn't really think that he was the monster responsible for all her suffering, the pain of all her people, could she?

…Of course she did. He was a Sartan. The enemy.

For a brief moment, Alfred hated Samah. Had the other man been present, he would have been transformed into a slug or some other lowly life-form that even the mensch despised. It was _his _fault, all of this: Orla's death and Haplo's distrust and this woman's hate and-

As quickly as it had come, the anger cooled. Yes, Samah was at fault, but he was too. He wasn't quite certain how he was at fault but was entirely sure that he was. Somehow. The exact details could be figured out later, when he didn't have an angry armed Patryn out for his blood. He could figure that out back home, just before he went back to sleep.

"I'm not the jailer," he whispered. "I've never set foot in the control room. I don't even know where it is."

She cocked her head at him, a portrait of suspicion, before deciding to accept his answer. "Why did you save me?"

He remembered Orla, Lya, Ivor, all the others entombed in crystal. Tears blurred his vision; he blinked them away. "Because I am so, so tired of death."

The suspicion deepened, only to be replaced by an expression of pain. Clearly the woman's injuries were catching up to her. Her hands were shaking, her body tilting from side to side. Alfred instinctively reached out, tried to steady her, but she jerked away. "I said not to touch me."

"I'm sorry."

Erri's vision was beginning to blur. She'd obviously lost a great deal more blood than she had thought. Soon that loss would catch up with her, knock her unconscious. Then the Sartan would… she wasn't quite certain what he would do, but knew she wouldn't like it.

Her hand tightened around the hilt of her knife. The Sartan's neck was unguarded. Let's see him heal his own slit throat.

…Except he had saved her life. She owed him.

Erri swore, released her knife. It clattered onto the ground. Dizziness assaulted her; she staggered, would have fallen if not for the arms that wrapped around her, kept her upright.

"I said don't touch me!"

The Sartan helped her to the ground. "Do you need healing?"

"Try n'I'll bideyou," she slurred.

No, no, stay awake! Who knows what the Sartan will do when you conk out? Something horrible, no doubt. So you'd better stay aw-

When Erri woke up hours later, it was only to find herself wrapped in a warm blanket. Two loaves of bread and some kind of fruit rested on a nearby rock. Beside the food was a small jug of water. But the Sartan was gone.

* * *

><p>"What do you mean, I won't be allowed out of the ship?" Bane demanded.<p>

"Exactly what I said," Haplo replied. "There aren't any pale-skinned humans on Chelestra. I wouldn't be able to explain you."

"Tell them I'm a Patryn," the child ordered. "Say that Patryns don't get their tattoos until they're full-grown. In fact-" He smiled wickedly "-you can tell them that you're my uncle."

Haplo shook his head. Ignoring their 'relatedness,' he pointed out, "Sooner or later they'll learn what Patryn children really look like. Our goal is to ensure that my people can colonize the other worlds. Colonies include children."

Bane pouted.

_Besides,_ Haplo thought, _I don't trust you anywhere near the people of Chelestra. Not to mention that Alfred won't help with the Kicksey-winsey if he knows you're involved._

In the practical Patryn's opinion, it would be downright criminal not the Sartan in his task. He had no doubt that the other man would prove a font of valuable information. Recruiting him was much more efficient than guesswork, however educated those guesses might be.

"Just stay on board the ship," he instructed. "Read a book or something. Plan for Arianus. Just don't come to the funeral."

Bane sighed heavily but agreed to stay behind.

Haplo nodded and made a mental note to leave the dog to guard him.

* * *

><p>*cowering* I'm sorry Orla, Alfred. The plot bunnies made me. They made me! (And is it just me, or have we already had this conversation?) The plot bunnies could not be placated!<p>

Erri, threatening to bite the person who just saved your life is not nice. And Haplo, you're right not to trust Bane, but you're not going far enough. What you need to do is take a detour to Abarrach and chuck him into the Fire Sea. Then blame the dragon-snakes for his death. See? Two birds, one stone!

-Antares


	8. Chapter 8

It wasn't until Alfred had entered Death's Gate that he remembered he had agreed to meet Haplo on Chelestra. Well, all right, they hadn't exactly made a compact to do so, but he had certainly implied he would be there. Besides, Haplo deserved to know that the ceasefire was hopeless. Orla was dead, and hope had died with her. Best to warn Haplo, let him save himself. Yes. And once he'd warned Haplo, he could go back home, back to sleep.

He barely made it back to the mensch colony before the funeral began. Haplo shot him a reproachful glance from across the coastal plain, but Alfred ignored the younger man's ire. He felt dull inside, dull and bleak.

The funeral was a blur to him, and not just because of the tears leaking from his eyes- tears for Orla and Alake both. Two women, dead and gone so long before their time….

"Sartan."

"Hm?" He blinked. The reverie faded; the world snapped into focus. "Oh. Haplo."

"It's over, Alfred," the Patryn repeated. "You need to bring me to Orla now."

Alfred's shoulders began to shake. "I can't," he whispered in the Sartan rune-language, letting the images explain for him.

Haplo sucked in a hissed breath. "So Samah killed his own wife?" he growled. "Why am I not surprised."

"No. Not Samah." A bitter smile. "Not directly, at least." In soft, halting phrases, he explained what had happened to Orla and all the heretics. He didn't explain his own 'adventure' in trying to find her, figuring that the Patryn could reason it out for himself.

"Sartan in the Labyrinth?" Haplo was incredulous, disbelieving.

"Sartan in the Labyrinth," Alfred confirmed dully. "Or the Vortex, at least. They were probably all slaughtered before they actually reached the Labyrinth itself."

Haplo hesitated. "Not necessarily," he admitted. "Remember Abarrach?"

Alfred shivered. Oh, he remembered Abarrach.

Haplo's uncharacteristic hesitation returned. He glanced towards his submarine, towards the dog, then steeled his jaw and turned back to the miserable Sartan. "Alfred. I'm sorry about your loss." Awkward words, uncertain, but still more than any other Patryn would offer.

"And I am sorry for yours." The older man nodded towards Alake's new tomb by the seaside.

By this point, everyone else had left. They were alone except for a few seagulls that played on the waves, cheery foils for the men's unhappiness.

Haplo accepted Alfred's sympathy with a nod. "You're sure there aren't any other Sartan willing to see sense?"

"There aren't any."

The Patryn grimaced. "Thought not. Come on, then." He turned, began walking towards his distant ship.

"No." Alfred shook his head, broken, miserable. "I'm not… not going with you. I'm going home." Since he was still speaking his native tongue, the word 'home' conjured up beautiful images: row upon row of crystal coffin, peaceful lovely faces; sweet peace and quiet….

Haplo swore. "Like hell you are. You're not just going to crawl back into your tomb and die."

"Actually, Haplo, that's exactly what I'll do."

The Patryn grabbed his arm. "With Orla gone, you're the only Sartan who knows about the real enemy."

"My people know that the dragon-snakes are our enemies," Alfred corrected. "They fought them."

Haplo opened his mouth, but no words came out. How the devil was he supposed to reason with someone who clearly wished to die? There was no way he was letting Alfred go through with it.

But that wasn't due to any friendly emotions, of course. He merely almost liked Alfred; he certainly didn't want the useless wretch as a friend. It was just a lot more practical to have a Sartan on hand when restoring the Kicksey-winsey. That was it, the sum and total of his concern.

"Her death doesn't mean it's hopeless," he tried to explain. "Just that we have to try harder to keep our peoples from killing each other."

"No." The Sartan shook his head, eyes downcast. "It is hopeless. Save yourself, Haplo. Go back to your lord before it's too late."

"I never betrayed my lord," the Patryn growled, "and I never will. There's nothing to go back to. And if you want me to serve my lord, you have even more reason to come with me. He wants to start up the Kicksey-winsey. I need you for that."

Once again, Alfred shook his head. "You need the Kenkari," he corrected.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"When my people chose the sleep, we worried that the mensch would go to war the second our eyes closed. We- or our leaders, at least, certainly not me- gave the Kenkari a book about how to work the machine. They were instructed to present that book to the mensch rulers next time war threatened. It was supposed to keep the peace for a little while, at least." His smile was soft, sad. "Obviously, the attempt didn't work, so I assume that the book is still in the Kenkari's possession. It will have all the information you need."

"And if the book is destroyed?"

"I don't know much about the Kicksey-winsey. I was a spell researcher, not a technician. It wasn't my area of expertise."

"You still know more about the machine than anyone else alive."

"The dwarves know more."

Haplo was beginning to get impatient. "The dwarves don't know how it was made. They don't know what it was meant to do. I need your help, Alfred, not theirs."

For a moment, he thought he'd gotten through to the other man. Alfred's head snapped up, eyes went wide. He opened his mouth, about to say something, before drooping once more. "I can tell you what I know now. It isn't much, so it shouldn't take long. Then I'm going home."

Haplo reminded himself that, satisfying as it would be to strangle Alfred, strangulation was a bad idea if he wanted to keep the other man alive.

He had two options: try to reason with the fool Sartan, who was clearly doing his best _not_ to see reason, or find some other way of acquiring his help. Haplo considered, decided. He jerked back, eyes bulging, hand scrambling for his sword. The runes on his body flared with blue light. "Sartan, get down! Dragon-snake!"

Alfred fainted.

Haplo's expression changed from fake terror to smugness. The light emanating from his tattoos faded. He chanted a series of runes, traced them over Alfred's prone body. This way the Sartan wouldn't wake up until Haplo removed the spell. That should give him enough time to carry him to his ship.

Or maybe not, the Patryn amended, hefting the taller, heavier man. It was suddenly much easier to believe that Alfred had become a dragon- he certainly weighed as much as one. What had he been _eating?_ Scrawny or not, he was tall enough to weigh quite a bit.

If the mensch had still been around, Haplo's… it was not a kidnapping. Well, okay, it was, but it was for his own good, and that made it forgivable… would have attracted quite a few raised eyebrows. As it was, the mensch were off listening to a bunch of politicians deliver speeches about a woman they'd probably never met. A few would be sincere- Grundle, Devon- but not the others.

"Open the door," Haplo called once he arrived.

Bane took his own sweet time about it. He had discovered several times that the dog wouldn't let him outside; the animal was holding him prisoner. When the child finally got around to opening the door, his mouth fell open. "What?"

"I brought back a souvenir," Haplo explained.

"That's Alfred!"

"I know." Haplo trod forward, grimacing under the Sartan's weight.

Bane followed. He didn't offer to help, of course, just following, getting in the way. "What's Alfred doing here?"

"Crushing me to death, mostly." The Patryn lowered the Sartan to the ground. "I'll explain more later. Right now, I have to start the ship before he wakes up."

Bane nodded. He hadn't moved his eyes from Alfred's prone form. The child's blue eyes were greedy, covetous, cunning. He had already moved beyond his initial shock, was plotting the things he could do with a weak-willed Sartan under his control.

When Haplo returned a few minutes later, his course set for Death's Gate, he found Bane smiling wickedly. Such an expression wouldn't have been out of place on a Labyrinth dragon's face. "We're using him to start the Kicksey-winsey, aren't we, Haplo?"

"That's the idea."

"When we're done with the machine, can I keep him?"

Haplo shrugged, spoke the cure for his sleep spell. "Sartan. Wake up." He spoke in human for Bane's benefit.

A low groan.

Haplo poked him. "Alfred. Get up."

The Sartan blinked blearily, looked up at Haplo's face. "Where are the dragon-snakes?" he asked. Then he jerked up, white as sea foam, nearly hitting his head on the Patryn's face. "Haplo, what happened this time? I didn't- did I?"

"No. I lied about there being dragon-snakes."

"You… lied?" Alfred pushed himself into a sitting position.

"I lied," the younger man confirmed. "You're on my ship now. We'll be with the Kenkari in just three or four days."

"The Kenkari?" Bane parroted.

Alfred's head snapped around. "What are you doing here?" he yelped, scooting backwards until he hit the wall.

"What about the Kenkari?"

Haplo answered Bane first. "According to him, the Kenkari have some sort of guidebook for the Kicksey-winsey. Alfred, Bane is here because my lord sent him with me to start up the machine."

"I'm going to be king soon," the child declared. "Grandfather said so."

Alfred mouthed the word 'grandfather' several times, unable to speak. Then he decided to address his more immediate concern. "Please drop me off at the Low Realms before going to the Kenkari."

"Nice try, Sartan." Were they really going to repeat this conversation _now_?

Evidently, yes. "You know I'll be more trouble than I'm worth. It's a horribly bad idea to keep me along. I'll just get in the way. And besides-" the life drained from his face "-I'm expendable now. There are plenty of other Sartan."

"You're not expendable, Alfred," Haplo sighed. "I wasn't joking when I said that I need your help."

"The book will have all the information you need."

"And if the book is destroyed or missing?" he shot back.

Alfred didn't answer immediately. He looked around, from Bane to Haplo to the dog. Then he crumpled. "I can tell you everything during the journey. If you want, I can bring you to our library. Just let me sleep." His voice was filled with exhaustion, raw with sorrow.

"Not going to happen, Sartan." Haplo folded his arms across his chest.

"You owe me. I saved your life."

"You did," he admitted, "but how does letting you kill yourself repay my debt?"

Alfred had no logical answer to that. He just hunched over, old and worn and miserable. "Then consider the debt cancelled," he ordered after a moment's thought. "Please, Haplo, just let me sleep. You don't want me around anyways- everything I touch turns to ruin." He inclined his head towards Bane, who was watching the exchange with fascination. "I tried to turn him into a decent human being. It didn't work. I tried to hide as a human. It didn't work. I tried to rescue you from Kleitus's dungeon. It didn't… well, it did work, but it also sparked a bloody revolution that might have killed everyone on the entire world." Bane raised an eyebrow. He hadn't heard this story. "I tried to convince Orla that your people and mine didn't have to be enemies. She died."

Never, in Haplo's wildest dreams, had he imagined that he would one day have to give a pep talk to a Sartan. He'd never given _anyone_ a pep talk before. How the devil was he supposed to do it?

Or maybe he didn't have to. Time cured all wounds. If he could just keep Alfred alive for… he wasn't quite certain how long… then the Sartan would start to heal. He hoped. At the very least, more time would afford him more opportunities to heal.

Of course, time hadn't exactly healed him from the pain and shock of his loved ones dying in the stasis sleep, but….

Never, in Haplo's wildest dreams, had he imagined that he would one day become a Sartan's grief counselor, but if that was what it took to get Alfred on his side, he would do it.

So how was he supposed to convince the Sartan to stay alive?

Simple: by giving him a reason to live. But what kind of thing would keep Alfred awake when he just wanted to sleep? What did the Sartan care about more than anything else in the worlds, even now that Orla was dead?

A chill shivered down Haplo's spine. He knew. He remembered.

"Alfred." Something in the Patryn's voice made the Sartan look up. In the Sartan language (which would hopefully make Alfred actually listen to him. Bane wouldn't be able to understand, but this wasn't about Bane), the Runner continued, "What do you think will happen to your people if the dragon-snakes win?"

The older man wrinkled his brow in confusion. "Absolutely nothing. They're dead." Heartbreaking images, cold still bodies in crystal coffins….

"So are Kleitus and Jera," Haplo pointed out.

Alfred became very still.

For a long moment they stayed that way, poised on the edge of a knife. Then the runes on Haplo's body flared brilliantly as Alfred leapt to his feet. "_Are you threatening them_?" he snarled, stomping forward, towering over the shorter man.

Bane, suddenly aware that these men both had the power of demigods, backed towards the door. His face was white.

"Of course not," Haplo snapped back. "Your memories have made me pretty much incapable of harming them. But if the dragon-snakes win, what would stop them from going after your people? They hate you, _Serpent Mage_."

"They could never find their way through the tunnels."

"Couldn't they? The dead have all the time in the world."

Alfred sank to a seat. He had become the sickly grayish color of a corpse. Haplo's tattoos went out. "But how will helping you keep them safe?" he demanded, eyes narrow, gaze intense.

"At the very least, it will keep the dragon-snakes disorganized, weak," Haplo replied.

Alfred plainly wasn't buying it. Haplo tried again. "The dragon-snakes are poisoning my lord's mind against me. They're trying to use him, to use him up, and destroy him. If I can prove my loyalty to him, then hopefully he will trust me enough to see the truth about the dragon-snakes. My people are strong enough to fight them, keep them from Abarrach."

"Not if you're fighting mine," Alfred pointed out softly, sadly.

"Do you have a better idea?" Haplo demanded. "Because if our peoples fight each other instead of the real enemy, then someone will use necromancy to gain an edge. And once they start using necromancy, they'll head to the convenient cache of unprotected dead bodies on Arianus."

Alfred nodded, face grim. "Not quite unprotected," he muttered. "Give me the rest of the journey to work on defenses for them and I'll do whatever you ask."

"It's a deal."

* * *

><p>Marit was not quite certain what to make of Haplo's souvenir.<p>

On the one hand, this Alfred fellow could be very useful. He must know the Low Realms like the back of his hands. He would be a tremendous asset in Haplo's task- a task assigned to him by Lord Xar. So in one way, Haplo was simply following orders in a way that her lord had not anticipated.

On the other hand…. This was a Sartan. He might not look like one, he might not act like one, but Alfred was still an enemy. Worse (if Haplo had told the truth to Xar), this particular Sartan was the most powerful specimen of his race, magically superior to Samah himself. And Haplo seemed a bit too friendly to the man who was supposed to be his prisoner.

Xar feared that Alfred had corrupted Haplo. Yet from what Marit had glimpsed through her peephole, that didn't seem to be the case. It was more like Haplo had corrupted Alfred, which was a good thing. Division among the Sartan would be an enormous boon when they invaded the elemental worlds.

Marit suppressed a sigh. The dog was close enough to hear her if she exhaled too loudly.

For now, Haplo was carrying out his orders. He was just using a very unconvential, albeit practical, method. As for the rest- the apparent beginnings of _friendship_ between a Patryn and a Sartan, the prisoner's tremendous freedom- she would just have to wait and see.

* * *

><p>Wow. I'm surprised at how fast this went. Just don't expect the next chapter to be up for a while.<p>

Marit has not been discovered yet, so she has some more time to snoop around and worry.

Haplo has the right idea. When you want someone to help you, threaten his loved ones with zombies. Works every time.

-Antares


	9. Chapter 9

Magic hummed within him, coiled beneath his skin. It sang, its song filling his ears. Part of him was tempted to sing along, to let the power take him, but he restrained himself. He could do that later, when he was in the correct location. For now, though, he simply needed to copy down the beautiful runes.

The spells of his people (and the Patryns too, he reminded himself) were based on possibilities. If it was possible and a powerful enough wizard knew the correct spell, it could be done. But what if someone invoked the possibility that another possibility would be removed from existence? What if he invoked the possibility that his people were permanently dead, would never return to the twisted cursed life of Abarrach's ghouls?

Writing down that spell, perfecting it, took the better part of an hour- not that he knew how long it had taken, of course. He was in a trance, dazed by the wonderful music of magic that was his birthright.

He had the spell. That was technically all he needed to achieve his goals: just cast the spell in the mausoleum and all will be well. They will be safe. At least from that kind of desecration.

The Sartan imagined what the dragon-snakes and lazar and their foul ilk would do once they discovered that his family and friends could never be awakened. A deep shudder ran through his skinny frame. No. Better to protect them further, to defend the tomb so thoroughly that no one would ever set foot in the final resting place.

With that in mind, he began to scribe a defensive spell.

"Sartan!" Haplo grabbed the quill from the older man's hand.

Alfred started awake, blinked in confusion. He felt dazed, dizzy, and slightly angry. "What was that for?" he demanded, reaching for his quill.

"I've been asking you about the Kenkari for the past ten minutes," Haplo grumbled. "You didn't answer, so I took away your distraction."

"…The Kenkari?" Alfred's mind was still filled with soft music, with runes and dance. Not elves or cults or prophetesses.

"Bane doesn't know anything about their stronghold," the Patryn explained. "Do you?"

"No. May I have my quill back, please?"

Haplo was suspicious. "Are you just saying that to get rid of me?"

"Of course not. I never went anywhere near their temple. The Kenkari…. They know things."

"What things?"

"All sorts of things. I was afraid that if I went to them, they would see through my disguise."

"And then they'd have worshipped you as a god," Haplo muttered. "How terrifying."

Alfred flushed. "They would have seen my weakness as well, you know. I didn't want them to take advantage of me. They seemed like the people most likely to do so, if only because they alone were likely to recognize me as a Sartan."

"In other words, you know nothing useful."

"Not really." Alfred gestured impatiently for his quill. "I'd like that back now."

Bane arched a brow. "Don't you care that Haplo's going to break into their temple and steal the book?"

Alfred blinked.

"Do you have a better idea?" the Patryn demanded.

The Sartan considered. Well, it wasn't like the Kenkari were actually using the book, and he was a bit of a book thief himself…. "Replicate it," he suggested. Then he lunged, swiped his quill from Haplo's hand. Smiling triumphantly, Alfred went back to designing his defense system. This spell here, that one there….

"Sartan."

"What is it this time?" Alfred demanded, annoyed. Couldn't Haplo see that he was trying to work? How was he supposed to defend his people if he kept getting interrupted every five seconds?

"We're there."

"We can't be," he protested. "I've only been working for a few…. Oh." He frowned at the huge stacks of paper before him.

"For three days straight. Without eating, drinking, or doing anything to take care of yourself." Haplo's lips twitched in amusement.

Alfred yawned as his body's needs caught up with him. Without the magical trance sustaining him, he was reminded of his body's needs. Mage or not, he was still a living creature. He needed food and drink and sleep.

"Here." Haplo offered him a cup.

Alfred gulped down the clear water, amazed at how good it felt to drink. "Thank you," he said once the liquid was gone.

Haplo shrugged. "Do you do that often?"

"Not anymore." Alfred shook his head. His stomach grumbled. "As a young man I would sometimes enter a waking dream when my research became particularly interesting. Of course, then I had people to check up on me if I didn't appear for a day or so." He chuckled softly, remembering a particularly humorous incident.

"Good thing you stopped, then," Haplo muttered. "You'd have starved to death otherwise."

Alfred nodded.

"Go to sleep," Haplo ordered.

Alfred thought back to his trance. He was fairly certain that he'd finished everything…. Yes, he had. He'd just been working on his mental maps, that was all. He could sleep. He let Haplo lead him to a pile of blankets, stumbling and yawning with tiredness.

"Aren't you going to put a sleep spell on him?" Bane demanded as Alfred curled up in a corner. "What if he tries to escape while you're gone?"

"He won't," Haplo assured the human.

Bane's eyes narrowed. "You seem awfully trusting of a Sartan."

"Just hex me," Alfred called. His words were unclear, slurred with sleepiness. "I don't mind. Turnabout's fair play, you know."

"I doubt that you'll need it," Haplo muttered, "seeing as you've been awake for three days, but whatever." He ambled over to the Sartan (who was already beginning to snore) and cast the spell.

"What did he mean that 'turnabout's fair play'?" Bane demanded.

"You think I understand what goes on in that head of his?" Haplo retorted.

"Yes."

"Well, I don't. Ask Alfred what he was talking about when he wakes up. I have to leave now." He patted the dog on the head- no need to take him along; two intruders would be far more noticeable than one- and climbed down to the ground.

Haplo had parked his dragonship nearby a trio of other vessels. The Kenkari had quite a few guests, being important religious figures and all, so Haplo's ship blended right in- especially with a couple charms that would increase the likelihood of no one noticing it or the runes covering its sides.

The Patryn made no sound as he crept towards the Cathedral of the Albedo. Old instincts that he had nurtured in the Labyrinth came rushing back. His senses expanded: night was as bright as day, insects buzzing were as loud as his dog's barks. He chanted softly, wrapped himself in magic, and slid past the few elves still up at this late hour without being noticed.

Since neither Alfred nor Bane had known anything about the temple's layout, Haplo was forced to wander for a while. Fortunately, he, like most other Patryns who had been born and raised in a Labyrinth, had an excellent head for directions. As he walked, a map formed in his head. This led here, that led there, turning left at this intersection would lead him back to the exit.

He approached yet another hall. He'd already turned right here. Let's try turning left….

Haplo slipped into the room at the end of the hall and froze.

He had found the library, all right, a huge room filled with enough books to make Alfred salivate. But, despite the incredibly late hour, it was occupied by three elves, all of whom were looking directly at him. So much for his magical cloak.

"Please, come in, Haplo," said the elf in the center.

The Patryn fixed him with a searching glare. "That's not my name," he lied. Bad enough that the elves had somehow inexplicably caught him- no, worse, that they'd been _waiting_ for him. He did _not_ want them to know who he was.

But how had they known?

The elf was not impressed. "Oh? Krenka-Anris informed me that Haplo son of Per and Jana would be paying us a visit tonight as he came to steal one of our order's most valuable possessions."

Haplo was dazed, flummoxed. For one wild moment he wondered if Alfred had somehow betrayed him- but that was impossible. The Sartan hadn't eaten or slept, much less snuck off to conspire with the very elves he least wanted to meet. Besides, Alfred didn't know his parents' names. Haplo hadn't even remembered their names. Not until tonight.

_Per and Jana_….

Alfred's voice. _The Kenkari…. They know things._

The Kenkari were looking at him, waiting for his response.

"If you know what I'm here for, then you know why I want the book." No point in playing dumb. They knew.

The elves nodded. "Krenka-Anris instructed us to give it to you," the one in the middle admitted, "but she first desires to speak with you, the other Patryn, and the Sartan."

The female elf by his side leaned forward in anticipation, gazing about as though she expected the others to materialize from the woodwork. Haplo didn't notice. He just scowled at the first elf. "There aren't any other Patryns on my ship."

"Yes there is," the other man retorted. "A woman, a spy, the mother of your child."

The world went white. Haplo's lungs compacted, forcing the air from his body. He was frozen as though in ice, paralyzed in shock. His heart pounded in his veins, drowning out the elf's next few words. If a dragon-snake had appeared then and there, the stupefied Patryn would have died, completely incapable of defending himself.

Breathe.

Something like calm returned, hopefully before the elves noticed how absolutely stunned he was. "I don't know what you're talking about," he growled.

"Krenka-Anris told us to speak with the emissary, the spy, and the Sartan. She does not lie."

"Good for her." Haplo sent an order to the dog, which had been sleeping across the room from Alfred. The canine whined, unhappy that his sleep had been interrupted, but padded out into the ship anyways.

If the woman- if _Marit_- was really there, he wanted to know. He had to know. Especially if she was a spy, for there was only one person with enough authority to make her his eyes and ears.

He prayed that she was there, prayed that she wasn't. He wanted to see her again, to apologize, to ask about their child…. But not now. Not when her presence meant that Xar distrusted him so much, that his lord and father was so deeply influenced by the dragon-snakes….

The elves hadn't responded to his last comment. The woman looked slightly offended, but that was it. No words, no gestures, nothing. Just uncanny silence and staring eyes that knew too much.

"Bring her out, then," Haplo snapped. A second after he said it he realized how stupid his demand was. Krenka-Anris was dead, had died while the Sartan were still strong. Dead people didn't- he thought of Abarrach and stiffened. Necromancy?

"We cannot," said the other male elf, the one who hadn't spoken yet. "We speak to her in spirit only."

Haplo remembered one of the few things Bane _had_ known about the Kenkari: they guarded the souls of the dead. Not their foul, moldering corpses brought back to a hideous half-life. Their souls, not their bodies. They obviously had Krenka-Anris's soul hanging around somewhere, strengthening the magic of their people.

The Patryn weighed his options. He could force them to hand over the book, but did he really want to make the most powerful elves on Arianus his enemies? No single elf could take down a Patryn, but if they attacked en masse…. Not to mention that these elves knew things they had no right to know. What else did they know? A way to defeat the dragon-snakes?

"Do whatever ceremony you need to," he ordered. "I'll get them." He spun on his heel, stalked into the hall, looking a great deal more dignified and in control than he actually felt.

A spy on his ship (maybe, but looking quite likely). Elves who knew he was coming. Alfred's mood swings. Bane's scheming.

…at least the dog was a constant, faithful companion.

He sent his thoughts out towards the dog, which was following an unfamiliar scent through the ship. Magic and female mixed together, too young to belong to the ship's builder. Faint, hidden by magic, but still there. The dog trotted up to a closed door, the end of the trail, and plopped down onto his haunches.

When Haplo arrived at the door, his dog whined apologetically. _Sorry, Master, but I can't open doors._ The Patryn stroked his pet's head, offering forgiveness. He didn't begrudge the dog's lack of thumbs.

The dog stretched, first forward, then back, before looking expectantly up at its master. _Why didn't you open the door? Don't you want to find the lady?_

Haplo opened the door.

She looked just like he remembered her, though a bit older: chestnut hair with white tips, round face, pointed chin, young and strong and lean. Beautiful. Dressed in the clothes of the Labyrinth, tough fabrics that would last a long, long time. She even slept in the same position, all curled up into a little ball.

If the dog hadn't licked his new friend on her face, Haplo would have stood there staring for a long, long time. But the dog, bored by his master's lack of action, dragged his slobbery tongue across the woman's cheek. Her gold flecked eyes snapped open as she reached instinctively for a weapon.

Haplo swallowed, breathed in. "Hello, Marit."

* * *

><p>Poor Haplo. Life ain't looking good for him, eh? But I kind of needed this to happen, because Weis and Hickman didn't exploit the Kenkari enough. I mean, psychic elves? Why visit them without asking for your fortune told? Though I have a feeling that life aboard the ship will be fairly miserable for a while (except for Alfred, who still needs to sleep it off. Silly Sartan).<p>

-Antares


	10. Chapter 10

Eyes met. Breaths quickened. Hearts sped up, burned. A pain bloomed inside Haplo's chest.

"Marit," he repeated quietly, then stopped. What could he say to her? Everything he could think of was either irrelevant or stupid or both.

She stood, brushed aside the dog. Her eyes had not left his. "Haplo," she said quietly.

For an eternal moment they stood there, man and woman, haunted by old memories and by new goals. Then Marit shifted slightly. "Do you have the book?"

There. That was a decent strategy- just pretend that she'd been part of the mission all along. It wouldn't work forever, but it could beat back the awkwardness for at least a few hours. Besides, the topic she'd brought up was distracting in itself.

"The Kenkari knew I was coming."

Marit stiffened. "How did the Sartan manage that?"

Haplo shook his head. "Not Alfred. They seem to have their own ways of knowing things." A pause. "They knew my parents' names, Marit."

He had told her once, all those years ago, that he had forgotten the names of his parents. They had spent the afternoon naming names, trying to jog his memory. It hadn't worked.

"And they knew about you," he continued. "They told me that you were on my ship. Alfred didn't know that. Neither did I." He smiled ruefully. "The Kenkari did." He hesitated. The dog whined softly, nuzzled his arm. Haplo stroked the animal's silky fur, looked into his liquid eyes. "They called you the mother of my child."

He should have skipped over that, brought her and Alfred to the elves right away. But now that she was here, that they were once again alone together, he had to ask. He could no more keep the question from coming than he could chew off his own neck.

"I named her Rue."

Haplo flinched away as though struck. A long moment passed before he said, "A girl?"

"A daughter," Marit confirmed. Her white-tipped bangs hid her eyes, the top part of her face. "I birthed her alone in a Squatter's hut, gave her up even before she was weaned."

"Rue," her former lover repeated. The word conjured up images upon images: a little girl with a thousand faces, her mother's chestnut hair, her father's quiet smile. He wondered what she would have looked like, what she _did_ look like. He wondered where she was. Probably still in a village of Squatters- she'd only be seven or eight Gates old.

"Rue." Marit nodded.

Haplo swallowed once.

The silence returned, stronger than ever. Haplo hated it- not the silence itself, for he'd spent many hours in happy quiet with her, but what the lack of words implied. They'd been apart so long, through so many things, only to be reunited in the most cruelly ironic way imaginable. He wanted this silence gone, so he copied Marit's businesslike strategy. "The Kenkari requested a meeting with us and Alfred."

She looked up. Her eyebrows climbed.

"They said they'd give me the book if I brought you to them," Haplo explained.

"You should have taken it anyways," she snapped.

"They'd moved it. I wasn't about to hold a knife to their throats and order them to hand it over. On this world, our people are supposed to be the saviors, not the tyrants."

She considered. Yes, his explanation made sense- but so did his justification for keeping the Sartan around, and she'd seen how well he treated the other man, didn't know what to think about his behavior.

"Besides," he added dryly, "I have the feeling that this is a lot faster."

Marit nodded. The action was slow, prolonged. Haplo flinched. He could see that she was weighing her every move, suspicious, cynical. It wasn't supposed to be that way. Not with him.

"Let's get Alfred, then." Gruff words, spoken mostly to hide the ache in his chest.

The Sartan was sleeping exactly where Haplo had left him (surprise, surprise), curled up in a nest of blankets. He was snoring softly, face relaxed, at peace. A gentle smile had broken out across it. Evidently he was having a good dream.

It was almost a pity to wake the man, but Haplo quashed his more tender emotions. The Sartan could catch up on his sleep after they dealt with the elves. Right now, though, he was needed. Besides, he wanted someone else between him and Marit, at least until they'd recovered from their mutual shock.

Alfred didn't awaken after Haplo removed the sleep spell. Having gone three days without any rest, he was too exhausted to wake up immediately. The Runner knelt down, shook his shoulders. Alfred groaned but did not open his eyes. Haplo shook him harder, still not speaking. He didn't want to wake up Bane- the elves hadn't asked for the changeling, just the Sartan and Patryns. The older man groaned again and flopped onto his belly. Haplo exhaled, gave up. "Alfred. Wake up."

Blue eyes blinked blearily at him. "R'we there yet?" the man slurred.

"Not yet. Now come on. I'll explain soon."

Alfred rose, stretched. His gaze lighted on Marit, who had been waiting impatiently at the threshold. The Sartan froze.

"She's not going to hurt you," Haplo assured him. "Now follow me. I'd prefer not to waste time."

"All right." Not taking his eyes from Marit, who in turn hadn't turned away from him, Alfred stumbled out into the night air. The second the ship's door shut behind them, he demanded, "Haplo, what is going on?"

The Patryn grimaced. "Alfred, this is Marit. Marit, Alfred."

Years at the human court (not to mention growing up as a demigod) had instilled Alfred with excellent manners. He extended a hand to his enemy without thought. "Pleased to meet you, my dear."

Marit did not accept the hand. "I am _not_ your dear, Sartan."

"Oh. All right." Alfred withdrew his hand, stuffed it in his pocket.

"Marit is here to help us," Haplo continued. "At the moment, she's helping by meeting with the Kenkari. They want to talk with the three of us before they hand over the book."

Alfred went white. "All three of us?" he squeaked.

"Yes, all three of us," Haplo snapped. "The emissary, the spy, and the Sartan."

"Spy?" Alfred was alarmed.

Haplo fought back a curse. "The point is, the Kenkari knew I was coming. They were waiting for me, said they wouldn't hand over the book unless we spoke with them- which I'd prefer to do before sunrise."

"Er… how did they know about…?"

"You said yourself they have their own ways of knowing things. I sure didn't tell them."

Alfred did not look any less alarmed.

Haplo sighed. "Don't worry, Sartan. I'll protect you from the big scary elves."

Alfred's alarm transformed into annoyance. "Did the Kenkari say anything else?"

They had, but Haplo wasn't certain if he wanted to share it with Alfred. Especially not if he had to share in front of Marit. He had the feeling that such an act wouldn't go over well. "Enough to convince me that you were right about them knowing things."

The Sartan was silent for a few moments (or at least, he didn't say anything. He made a fair amount of noise tripping over himself, Marit, a couple rugs, and anything else in his path, but his mouth stayed shut). Finally the quiet tension became too much for him. "Might I ask why you didn't bring the dog?"

Haplo winced at the Sartan's noise. Nervousness had made Alfred speak louder than he'd intended. In a quieter voice than his companion had used, Haplo explained, "The dog's guarding Bane. For all I know, this is some bizarre trap. They could be luring us away so a team of kidnappers can go in and grab the heir to the human throne." It probably wasn't a trap of any sort, but he would rather be safe than sorry.

"Oh." Alfred remained silent for the rest of the trip.

The Kenkari were exactly where Haplo had left them, serene and unruffled in their plush chairs. They hadn't even shifted the position of their legs or arms since he'd departed. Yet when he, Marit, and Alfred entered the room, the three elves stood.

"Well met, Marit, Master Sartan," the center elf said, inclining his head in Alfred's direction.

Haplo fought back an uncharacteristic bout of wild laughter. He'd completely forgotten that though the elves served Krenka-Anris, the object of their devotion was only a priestess. A priestess of the Sartan, who were worshipped as gods throughout Arianus.

Alfred gulped audibly. His fingers dug into Haplo's shoulders. "W-well met, Keeper."

Marit remained silent, staring suspiciously at the three elves as though expecting them to multiply into an army and attack.

The elven Keeper, if that was indeed who he was, frowned slightly. He obviously hadn't expected a Sartan to stutter. But none of his surprise filtered over into his voice as he said, "Krenka-Anris, the holy priestess, has a message for you. Please, follow my brethren and me to the sanctuary."

Which meant that they were treated to the sight of Alfred walking through the hallway. Nerves made him even clumsier than normal, loosened his tongue.

"We're not gods, you see," he explained, picking himself up from the floor. "We thought we were, but we aren't and we never have been. Arrogant, yes. Powerful, yes. But mortal, unwise, capable of mistakes." He gestured ruefully at his own gangly body. "Imperfect, just like the mensch we so disdained."

The female elf looked heartbroken.

"I suspect," Alfred continued, "that your priestess is a great deal holier than any of my people now alive." He smiled slightly. "A good thing for her and her followers, don't you think?"

His attempt at cheering her up did not succeed. Red-faced, ashamed, the Sartan stared at his feet, which sadly had no effect no his clumsiness.

"Then why do you shine?" Her voice was tinged with fear, with hope.

"What?" The startled Sartan looked up.

"You shine," she repeated. "Looking at you is like… like looking through a piece of heavy fabric that covers a brilliantly burning flame. The cloth cannot hide the brightness, though it tries so hard, and already the fire had burned rips through the cover."

Alfred slowed to a stop. He did not answer.

"I think," Haplo said, "that your observation has more to do with his personality than with his nonexistent divinity."

"If you say so," she muttered, not seeming entirely convinced.

By now, they had arrived in the main sanctuary, the heart of the Kenkaris' power. The hairs on Haplo's neck stood on end. This power was very different from his own, but he could still sense it, respect it. Yes, he had done right in not underestimating these elves.

Alfred inhaled deeply, eyes fluttering shut. His clumsiness faded. For a few moments, he was almost graceful. Then he exhaled and the gracefulness leeched right out of his ungainly body.

"Krenka-Anris, Holy Priestess…." The lead elf (Haplo realized that he still hadn't gotten their names, still had no idea just who these powerful priests were) chanted for a long time, voice soft, sibilant, reverent. The power in the room focused, intensified, until Haplo could almost make out its shape. It had a form almost like a woman's, slender and a bit stooped with age….

He risked a glance at Marit. The other Patryn was stiff, muscles tense, ready to fight or flee (probably fight) at a moment's notice. She caught him looking and forced her body to relax, though not all of the tension drained from her jaw and neck. Haplo got the idea, though, and returned his attention to the elves.

The leader's chant had died down. He stood perfectly still, butterfly robes hanging limp from his body. His eyes were closed, his head slightly uplifted, as though he were listening to someone. Or something.

Alfred shifted, drew a bit nearer to Haplo. Like Marit, he was tense, ready to flee at the drop of a hat.

"You'll be fine," the Patryn murmured.

"I know," the Sartan breathed back. "I just can't help it."

The lead elf opened his eyes. "Krenka-Anris has spoken to me," he announced.

"And?" Marit demanded.

All three elves fixed her with withering glares. She had the grace to look embarrassed.

"She has a message for all three of you and another that you must carry to the man who died but is not dead, messages that will be relevant no matter which path you choose, no matter which set of possibilities opens for you. The assassin, the man who is not here, needs to wait."

Alfred gave a tiny moan.

The elf fixed the three who were present with a glare so intimidating that they barely stopped themselves from stepping backwards. "You, Marit," he proclaimed, "must admit the truth to yourself. You, Haplo, must pick your side. And you, whose name I do not know, must live up to both meanings of that hidden name. If you fail to do this, the war you fear will be even worse than you imagine."

* * *

><p>Haplo is paranoid, Marit is grumpy, and Alfred is confused. Also, ominous!elves are ominous! and should be heeded.<p> 


	11. Chapter 11

"That was a waste of time," Marit grumbled.

"Not really." Haplo lifted the book in his hands, reminding her of why they'd gone to the Kenkari in the first place. "And since they knew my parents' names, I'm inclined to believe them about tonight."

He wasn't quite certain what he thought about that night. He probably wouldn't for quite some time, long enough to figure out what the elves' cryptic words might mean.

Alfred coughed. "Our hosts don't speak Patryn," he reprimanded gently.

"Of course they don't," Marit snapped, still speaking her native tongue. "That's why I'm not speaking their language."

Haplo changed topics. In the elven language, he asked, "Do any of you have any idea what Krenka-Anris meant?"

They didn't. Not the Keeper of the Door, the lowest-ranking of the three. Not the Keeper of the Book, who would have answered honestly for Alfred's sake, if not for the sake of the Patryns. Not even the high priest, the Keeper of the Soul, who was closest attuned to the will of Krenka-Anris and therefore had the best understanding of her cryptic words. Not that Soul's silence meant anything- since he was closest to Krenka-Anris, it was entirely possible that he knew perfectly well what he'd related to the three non-elves but wasn't telling.

"Why are you asking them?" Marit demanded. She jutted a thumb at Alfred. "Ask him."

Haplo frowned, not quite understanding. "Are you still convinced that Alfred somehow set us up?"

"No," she admitted grudgingly, "because there's no way he could have known your parents' names. But assuming this message is real, not a trick or a lie, he probably knows what his own name means."

"Krenka-Anris kept that knowledge from me for a reason," Soul said.

Marit ignored him. Rounding on the miserable Alfred, she demanded, "So what's your name, Sartan?"

"…Alfred." He didn't meet her gaze, staring instead down at his feet. His face was faintly flushed, embarrassed. "Alfred Montbank. It was the first one I could think of," he admitted.

"But it's not your name," Marit said irritably.

The Sartan sighed. "I have very little left from that time, Marit: my magic and my name, and I'd more than half-forgotten them before meeting Haplo."

"Do you know what your message meant?" the Patryn in question asked, cutting off his ex-lover's retort.

Alfred's feet shuffled in and out, toes touching heels and vice versa. "I believe so, yes."

"Then do it," Haplo ordered. "Marit and I can take care of ourselves. You focus on whatever it is that you need."

Alfred's head snapped up. He gawked at the Patryn for a moment before beaming, nodding frantically.

"Is there anything else?" That question was directed to the Kenkari, who had been watching the (supposed) enemies' interactions in fascination.

"Krenka-Anris told me nothing more," Soul replied. "However, I do have a question, more my own curiosity than anything else. Haplo, what happened to your soul?"

Alfred fell victim to a sudden coughing fit.

"My _what_?" the Patryn repeated incredulously.

"I know that you have one," the elf explained quickly, fearing that he'd offended the other man, "but you don't seem to have it with you."

Alfred's coughs intensified. Haplo narrowed his eyes at the Sartan. "I don't suppose you'd know anything about that, would you?"

The Sartan attempted to look innocent and failed. Haplo arched a brow. Marit glared. "What did you do?" she demanded.

"I didn't do anything," the miserable man replied. In a pitifully obvious attempt to change the subject, he added, "His Highness will be waking up soon. We should get back to the ship before he finds himself all alone." Not that Bane would be frightened- he was more frightening than anything he was likely to encounter here on Arianus- but who knew what the brat would get up to on his own.

"What's this about my soul, Sartan?"

Alfred crumpled. "It was only a conjecture," he tried to explain. "That's why I didn't tell you. But… Haplo, have you ever wondered how your dog survived being thrown into the Fire Sea?"

Silence stretched out, thick as molasses. Finally, in a flat, disbelieving voice, Haplo said, "The dog is my soul." There was no emotion on his face, but his eyebrows were raised.

Marit snorted. "The dog is his soul," she repeated incredulously. "That's the stupidest thing I've ever heard."

Haplo, though, was frowning. He thought back to a series of unconnected incidents: spying through the dog's eyes, his disappearance while he was on Chelestra, his habit of inexplicably appearing at his master's side, how he survived the Fire Sea, how Alfred knew, just from looking at the animal, that his master was still alive….

"My soul. The dog is my soul."

"Not all of it," Alfred and the Kenkari corrected in unison. Sartan and elf blinked at one another, wondering who should continue. After a few seconds of silent communication, the Keeper of the Soul explained, "It seems to be only your best parts: pity, mercy, compassion."

Haplo's eyebrows climbed even higher.

"This is ridiculous," Marit grumbled. "Let's go, Haplo. We have better things to do than-"

"Woof!"

Alfred jumped nearly out of his skin, fell flat on his back. The dog grinned, plumy tail wagging, and licked the Sartan across the face.

"I assume that that is yours?" queried Door.

Haplo nodded. "He tends to show up without any warning." Which would make sense, if the mutt was part of his soul. By the Labyrinth, no wonder Xar hated the beast!

"It is your soul," Book proclaimed, solemn as a monarch at her coronation.

The dog grinned.

"All right then." Haplo shrugged slightly. He was out of his league and knew it. "Now what the hell am I supposed to do about it?" This was directed at Alfred, who had had longer to think about the dog and its implications.

The Sartan flushed. "Nothing, I'm afraid," he sighed. "You have to become complete again on your own by accepting that the dog and what he represents is indeed a part of you, and not a weak part either." He smiled ruefully. "Of course, I am not the best person to ask when it comes to restoring souls."

"Don't tell me you believe him." Marit was incredulous.

"The dog died. He was immolated in the Fire Sea, burned alive." Even now, the memory brought a lump to his throat. "Nothing and no one could have brought him back unless he had something else tying him to life."

"Fascinating." Soul didn't seem to realize that he had spoken. He gazed at the dog almost greedily, utterly enchanted by the thought of a living soul- or even part of a living soul- made manifest. "I wonder, how much is dog and how much is metaphysical?" Turning to Haplo, the excited elf added, "Does he eat, sleep, drink? Is he capable of producing offspring?"

Alfred choked. Haplo almost joined him. "How the devil would I know?"

Soul's face flushed. He coughed delicately, pink still staining his cheeks. "Yes. Well. You have the book and you have been given your messages. Is there anything else you required, or would you prefer to go back to the changeling prince?"

Haplo didn't bother asking how the elves had known about Bane's heritage. "A warning before we leave you: there are creatures called dragon-snakes that have escaped through Death's Gate. They are… I have faced evil before, growing up in the Labyrinth, facing lazar, but never anything like them."

Soul nodded gravely. "Thank you for your warning. We will bear it well in mind."

Alfred shivered, remembering the sheer horror of the creatures. "I hope so."

* * *

><p>"The dog is your soul." Marit's voice oozed disgust.<p>

"I know," Haplo grumbled, "that's the stupidest thing you've ever heard. But even if it isn't true, there is something uncanny about the mutt."

The dog's ears twitched.

"Magic does strange things when its bearer is close to death," Alfred murmured. His gaze was distant, unseeing. "And you were very near death at the Final Gate."

Haplo arched a questioning brow. "I never told you when the dog showed up."

Alfred started, looked very guilty. "I'm sorry. I'm not trying to, I promise. It's just that I'm so close to falling asleep that some of your memories must be leaking into my mind."

"_What?_" Haplo was a quiet man, not prone to loud outbursts, but this was almost a shout.

Alfred winced. Oh, right. Haplo might not have known that whatever they had shared on the way to Abarrach hadn't given them only one memory each. "You haven't been experiencing any of my memories, have you?" Though he asked, he knew the answer.

"Why in the name of the Sundering would I experience anything of yours?" The Patryn's voice was carefully controlled, tight with strain.

Marit watched the exchange, gaze dark, remembering everything. The men seemed to have forgotten she was present; she could work with that.

Alfred's feet shuffled in and out, in and out. "In Death's Gate, when we exchanged souls, I… seem to have received more than one of your recollections. I didn't mean to." His shoulders hunched in, making him appear small and shrunken. "I'm sorry. I really had no intention of seeing anything, because it's really none of my business, but sometimes- actually, just three times- they just snuck up on me."

"Which memories?" Haplo ground his question out from behind clenched teeth.

"A brief emotional impression of what life in the Labyrinth was like." Alfred wouldn't meet the other man's gaze. "No real events, just feelings. Your parents'… fight with the snogs. That was what I saw in Death's Gate. The Final Gate and the dog's creation." His eyes flickered to Marit. "Her leaving you, and you wondering if she was carrying your child."

"Our daughter's name is Rue." Haplo's voice was cold, sharp.

Alfred got the hint. "If it's any consolation," he hastened to add, "you should be able to do the same to me."

Haplo blinked at him twice, wondering if he'd misheard. He hadn't. The Patryn spat a foul curse, followed it up with an even fouler expletive. "That's supposed to make me feel better?"

Alfred thought his words over, flushed. "Oh. Never mind." He could easily understand why Haplo did _not_ want memories of waking up alone and afraid, of wasting away for years and years in Queen Anne's palace, of fainting and clumsiness.

"Never mind," Haplo grumbled, mocking the other man. Then he sighed. "Just try not to do it again."

"I've been trying," Alfred admitted wretchedly.

"Try harder." Haplo's tone brooked no argument.

"All right." His feet shuffled. "I'm sorry."

Haplo sighed. "I suppose you can't help it," he grumbled. And it was kind of his fault that they were going through this- he had cast the spell which had kept them from fainting.

By this time, they had reached their vessel. Haplo paused their conversation for long enough to chant the spell of unlocking. Runes flickered. The ship opened. "Go back to sleep, Alfred. I'm sailing us to a less populated island."

Alfred nodded, made his way to the nest of blankets. He extracted two of the blankets (why had he used so many in the first place? He wasn't that cold) and offered them to Marit. "I'm staying awake," she informed him icily. "Haplo, will you teach me to fly the ship?"

Her ex-lover nodded. Alfred folded up the extra blankets, grabbed the one he would use, and collapsed onto the floor. Soon, just after Haplo had lifted the ship into the air, he was asleep again.

For perhaps an hour, he quietly (no need to wake Alfred) explained the workings of his vessel. This is how you land it; this is how it lifts into the air. Here's the steering equipment, these ropes will bring you up and down in the air. This will let you speed up, this will slow you down in preparation for landing.

"So, what's this about you two exchanging souls?"

Haplo winced. He glanced quickly at Alfred, was relieved to see that the Sartan was still unconscious. "It's a long story and we should probably land soon." He was weary in mind if not in body. It had been a long, draining day.

"You've already explained how to land."

That was true. Haplo had told her that in an effort to keep talking, to delay their inevitable conversation. It seemed that his plan had backfired.

"When I went through Death's Gate to Arianus and Pryan…."

Somehow, his simple explanation warped and changed into a saga. He told her about Limbeck and Jarre and their rebellion, about discovering Alfred's heritage in the High Realms, about escaping the tytans on Pryan. He related the sheer horror of Abarrach, the wonder of the Chamber of the Damned, his torturous punishment for letting Alfred escape. He told her about Chelestra and the now-dead girl who had loved him, about the foul, terrible dragon-snakes and the wondrous dragon that had saved him. He was frank and honest, blunt about his mistakes and doubts, eloquent in his descriptions of the wonders he had seen. He talked until his throat was dry, until his eyes were red from lack of sleep.

Marit listened, frowning at Bane's treachery, fighting back laughter at Zifnab and some of Alfred's misadventures, smiling with relief when her ex-lover survived a particularly difficult situation. She was a good listener, quiet, able to ask questions with a simple facial expression that didn't interrupt the narrative.

Night (or what was left of it) passed them by; Solarus peeked out from behind the Lords of Night. At some time, Haplo and Marit had decided not to sleep that day. They would continue flying until they were closer to the Low Realms. They were just beginning their descent when Bane entered the room. The changeling started, stared at Marit. "Who are you?" he demanded.

The Patryn woman touched her heart-rune. "I am Marit." She didn't ask the prince's name or even comment on it. She knew who he was.

"What are you doing here?" the boy snapped.

Haplo's eyes bored into her. Her jaw tightened. She was _not_ going to confess to espionage. "Helping."

Bane pouted. "Grandfather didn't say a thing about a helper."

"Yet here I am."

Bane spent the rest of the morning wheedling her for information. She ignored him. According to Haplo's tales and the rumors circulating around the Nexus, this child was an unpleasant little brat who had murdered his own father and wanted to kill those who had raised him. Such actions were abhorrent to the Patryn race.

A tiny, niggling voice asked why, if these actions were so horrible, her lord was using this boy as his tool. She told the voice to shut up.

The child eventually woke Alfred, hoping to get more information from him. Marit expected him to spill the beans, but, to her surprise, the Sartan simply confirmed that Marit was a helper and went to look for food before heading back over to his notes. Haplo stopped him. "No."

"What?"

"Alfred, you worked on those plans for _how _many days? They don't need more work. Besides, you'd just starve yourself. Why don't you help me go over the book instead?"

Marit manned the ship while they went over the book. Alfred would occasionally explain some minor point Haplo didn't understand. Marit listened. If something happened to Haplo- for instance, this suspiciously friendly Sartan showing his true colors- she would be able to work the machine.

The Lords of Night returned, masking Solarus. Marit landed the ship on a tiny coralite island. "Get some sleep," she ordered the others. "Tomorrow we enter the Maelstrom."

* * *

><p>Poor Haplo. He's not really taking all these revelations well (though that might have been because of Soul's curiosity. Incidentally, I've often wondered the same thing. COULD the dog have puppies?). Hopefully he'll adjust soon.<p>

Hopefully.

-Antares


	12. Chapter 12

Haplo didn't know if it was Alfred's confession or their proximity to Drevlin with its crystal tombs, but his dreams that night were not his own. He dreamed that he was a young child in soft white robes, his body unmarred by blue tatoos, too young to understand why his father wouldn't be coming back. His mother, driven to distraction by the boy's questions and her own grief at Illiel's death, eventually snapped at him, frightened him into his room, where he grieved in his own way. He might not understand entirely, but even as a child, he realized that life would be very different now- and not for the better.

The Patryn woke with tears gathering in the corner of his eyes.

Angry- with himself for being so weak, with Alfred for making him that way, with Marit and Bane for causing him additional stress- he rubbed his eyes, supposedly to get the sleep out of them but really to mask his emotions. If Marit caught him mourning a long-dead Sartan man he'd never even met, there was no telling what she would do, what she would say to Xar. He needed to be strong for her, for his lord, to convince them both of the truth. Neither would trust him if he let Alfred turn him into a sentimental weakling.

Fortunately, no one else had seen him. They were all either asleep or out of the room or both. Not even the dog was awake.

A groan made its way up Haplo's throat. The dog. Another problem.

What was he supposed to do about his soul?

"Should've stayed asleep," the Patryn grumbled. Across the room, Alfred shifted in his slumber. The dog's ears twitched. He looked up and grinned

Haplo patted his thigh. "Here, boy."

The dog stretched luxuriously before trotting over to his master. The goofy grin hadn't left his face.

Step one complete. Time for step two. Haplo placed his hand on his breast, over the heart-rune. "In."

The dog tilted his head.

"In," Haplo repeated more firmly, thumping his hand against his chest.

The dog's ears pricked up. His head tilted further to the left.

Haplo lost all patience. "Give me back my soul, you mangy mutt."

The dog huffed. Alfred, startled, lifted his head. He blinked blearily at the Patryn and hound.

"Alfred, do you have any ideas about…?" Haplo gestured at the dog, which was now scratching his ear and ignoring his master.

"I'm afraid not."

Haplo sighed; he'd expected as much. "Let me know if you think of anything, all right? For now, I have to take the dog outside." Though why the mutt needed to go outside when he was a _piece of someone else's soul_ was beyond him.

When he and the dog (which had by now forgiven him for use of the word 'mutt') returned, it was to find Bane harassing Alfred yet again while Marit inspected the ship's runes, pointedly ignoring them both. "Were you going to lift off?" the other Patryn called. Marit nodded.

Alfred stumbled over to him, Bane at his heels. "Haplo," he began, and continued in the Sartan rune-language (which Bane could read fairly well but which he could not speak; Alfred obviously didn't want to boy to overhear), "what about…." His feet shuffled back and forth, back and forth. "…you know?"

Hugh the Hand, another thing Haplo hadn't had time to think about. But of course they'd have to do something about him eventually. Fighting back a curse, the Patryn shrugged, much more nonchalant than he actually felt. "I don't suppose you know that spell you used on the soldier?"

A wistful, mournful sigh.

"Thought not. For now, Alfred, just keep trying to remember."

Haplo had expected the Sartan, reassured against his fears and given orders, would wander off. Instead, the older man hesitantly asked, "You said I could cast spells to protect my people, but that was before we knew Marit was here. Will she let me…?" Blue eyes focused on Marit before returning their attention to Haplo.

He really shouldn't have gotten out of bed. The day just wasn't worth it.

Or perhaps it was, because Alfred changed right then and there, a hint of candlelight flickering through a thick cloth. "Never mind. I won't let her or anyone else touch my people." There was no apology in his voice, no hint of surrender in his bearing. He looked almost (almost. This _was_ Alfred, after all) fierce.

Then he was Alfred again, but a much more serene Alfred than Haplo had ever seen. Nodding, one corner of his lip tilted upwards in a tiny half-smile, the Sartan retreated to his books, leaving the Patryn to wonder what the heck had just happened.

Bane was even more confused than the older male (Marit, who had been steering the ship, hadn't noticed their conversation). "What happened?" he demanded.

Haplo, not entirely certain himself, shrugged. Bane pouted. "No one ever tells me anything," he whined.

"We don't always understand everything," Haplo muttered, looking once again at the dog. His pet grinned as though laughing at him.

"Don't you?" Bane retorted. "I thought you were Grandfather's most trusted emissary?" His eyes glinted with so much malice that Haplo half-expected them to flash red.

Haplo's jaw tightened for half a moment before he forced it to relax. Face blank, he replied, "I am, but that doesn't mean I was chosen for my nonexistent omniscience. Lord Xar chose me because I have the capacity to learn."

"You don't seem to be doing a good job of it," Bane noted. A tiny half-smile quirked his lips, made his cherubic face into something dark and ugly. Then his expression changed, becoming boyish and innocent once again. "Perhaps you've learned everything that you can. Or maybe you've even learned too much."

The Patryn opened his mouth, was about to retort, when a glint of blue caught his eye. "Marit, Alfred," he called, taking a step forward, covering Bane's mouth.

The Sartan man and Patryn woman turned. Their eyes, blue and gold-flecked brown, went wide. "I'm not doing that!" Alfred yelped, his words clashing with Marit's furious, "What are you playing at, Sartan?"

The hexagonal runes coalesced into a shape, the outline of a man in flowing white robes. The dog snarled, lunged forward. Haplo pushed Bane aside.

The shape faded. The rune-light dimmed, vanished. No trace of the spell- of the intruder- remained.

Alfred was the first to speak. "Haplo, does your ship have any defenses against people transporting themselves into it?"

"No. It never needed any." Not until now, at least. Nor did he know a spell that could do such a thing.

Light sparked in the center of the room, bright blue and red. The luminescence coalesced into six-sided runes, which in turn flowed together in the shape of a Sartan. On either side of the Sartan, more runes appeared, gathered together. Not one, not two, but five Sartan were materializing in Haplo's ship.

The Patryn wanted to curse but restrained himself. He chanted, scrawled his own four- and eight-sided runes in the air. He needed a rope, something to keep them still. Marit jogged to his side, reciting her own spell. The floor under the Sartans' feet chilled, became coated in a slick layer of water and ice. The cold spot spread from wall to wall, covering almost all the floor. Haplo nodded. It was a good plan- take away their ability to dance, make them helpless. Alfred, too, had a good plan, singing his own spell, tracing backwards runes in the air. Light snaked from his hands, towards his kindred and their spell.

Haplo could see that the older man wasn't doing anything harmful. Quite the reverse- his magic slowed down the transportation spells, gave the Patryns more time to prepare themselves. Marit, however, didn't know Alfred quite so well. She simply saw a Sartan working his magic while other Sartan invaded, got ready for battle. So she reacted in a perfectly logical, rational way. She threw a dagger at him.

Alfred shrieked, dove for cover. His rune-structure shattered. The dagger whizzed past him, nicking the shoulder of his coat.

The first Sartan, a young man with an uncanny resemblance to Samah, finished materializing. He trotted from the icy floor to a more stable surface, began his own song and dance.

Haplo had been distracted by Marit's attempt on Alfred's life, but the strange Sartan's actions snapped him out of his surprise. He flung his rope at the intruder, hoping that he (Samah's son, probably. They had to be related, looking that much alike) hadn't inherited his father's dueling skills. At the very least this man was too young to have much experience.

But it turned out that Haplo didn't have to worry about the stranger's dueling skills, because half a second before they made their first attempts on each other's lives, the floor beneath them tilted crazily. Haplo stumbled backwards, flinging out his arms for balance. His Sartan enemy staggered, pressed a hand against the wall to steady himself. The dog yelped, slid. Bane grabbed the door, hung on for dear life.

Alfred, who, after seeing that Marit wouldn't throw any more knives at him, had been trying to get up, fell back onto an icy patch of floor. His eyes widened to comical proportions as he kept sliding across the ice, into four of his now-materialized brethren. Sartan collided with Sartan, knocking them to the ground.

Marit turned the steering wheel again; the Sartan slowed to a stop before sliding in the opposite direction. Bane, safe from his place by the door, began to laugh.

The one Sartan who wasn't currently thrashing about on the floor, trying desperately to right himself, was not quite as amused as the changeling prince. Attempting to look dignified (which was easier said than done when he had to clutch a wall just to stay upright, his body lurching back and forth), he snarled, "You who call yourself Alfred Montbank are hereby under arrest for-"

Haplo threw the rope at him. The runes coiled almost of their own accord, lashing, whipping. The Sartan sidestepped, but the rune-rope followed.

One of the Sartan on the floor, a middle-aged woman, kicked herself out of the fray. She grabbed Haplo's rune-whip, used it to pull her to her feet. Marit twisted the wheel again, but it was too late. The Sartan woman yanked the rope away from her comrade, using its magic to stay upright and free him in one go. The dog pounced, knocked her back onto the floor, skidded away to bite at the still-standing Sartan's legs.

"Keep steering," Haplo ordered. "Bane, get out of the way."

The boy stopped laughing long enough to glare. He was a prince, (well, sort of) and he did not appreciate being ordered about. Then the ship swung crazily once again. Bane fell backwards, tumbling down the hall and rendering his protests irrelevant.

"Haplo?" Alfred called. The Patryn glanced over at him, grimaced. The four other intruding Sartan had managed to right themselves. Only Alfred was still on the floor, soaked and rolling from wall to wall. Even as Haplo watched, the unfortunate man slammed into a wall, wincing in pain. He tried to push himself up, but Marit was beginning another wild turn.

The other Sartan, battered and bruised, took in their adversaries: Alfred, who was clinging to a pipe for dear life; Haplo, runes glowing, hands tracing another spell upon the air; Marit, a cold smile on her face, gripping the wheel with softly glowing hands; and the dog, which was attempting to eat (or at the very least, highly inconvenience) their leader. Not to mention that a great deal of the floor was still ice, Haplo still had command of his rune rope, and Alfred could probably nullify any of their spells.

The middle-aged woman held up her hands. "We have no wish to harm you, Patryns," she announced. The man who looked like Samah gawked at her. "We simply wish to take the traitor back for justice. Then we will leave you."

Haplo shook his head.

The woman frowned. "There are five of us and three of you," she pointed out.

Haplo smiled. The expression was tight, taut. "Since we're in a flying ship powered by Patryn magic, I'm not overly concerned. If you beat us- not likely- we'll all plummet to our deaths before you can transport out of here."

Worry creased the woman's brow.

"He's lying," growled the Samah lookalike.

Marit wrenched the wheel to the other side, proving him wrong.

The intruding Sartan exchanged nervous glances before turning to their leader.

"If you all want to die, go ahead," Haplo ordered. "Fight me."

"As I said," the woman repeated, "we do not wish to fight you. We simply wish to bring the traitor to justice."

Alfred shook his head. "I'm not going with you. There is something I need to do." In his words, Haplo glimpsed shimmering runes and crystalline coffins.

"You heard him," the Patryn said. "Now leave. And don't even think about trying to pass an offensive spell off as transportation. Alfred, if they do that, stop them."

Marit's eyes bored into his back, into his soul (at least, the parts of his soul that weren't trapped within the dog). _Trust a Sartan?_ she seemed to demand. _Are you mad, Haplo?_

The Sartan gathered together, murmured too quietly for Haplo to hear. He strained his ears for their words, his eyes for their images, but neither heard nor saw anything concrete. He thought that they would see sense, but perhaps that was just Alfred's influence making him want to see the best in them (fortunately, one look at the face of Samah's son, or nephew, or whatever he was took care of that). If they didn't…. Well, he was good at reading body language, and he and Marit were a good team. At least, they had been a good team.

The man who looked like Samah drew himself up to his full height, cast a baleful glare on Alfred. The older Sartan winced, frowned, straightened himself up, and glared back. "Do not think that you have escaped, traitor," the younger growled. "We will be back, and we _will_ bring you to justice for what you have done."

"I'm not sure if your mother would have approved of that," Haplo muttered. Hopefully this was a son, not a nephew. That would be embarrassing.

Alfred turned scarlet, looked ready to faint. The younger Sartan's jaw twitched, tightened. Ignoring Haplo, he growled, "If I were you, I would turn myself in and plead for leniency. Soon." He stepped back, carefully avoiding the ice, and began to work his magic. The others joined in, their voices rising in a chorus. Alfred remained still, calm but watchful.

And then they were gone.

Marit lowered her hands from the wheel, turned a baleful gaze onto Alfred. The Sartan shriveled, shoulders hunching. "Care to explain how your people found us?" she demanded.

"I don't know," he confessed. "They don't tell my name, and I doubt they guessed. No one else on the Chalice- at least no one that I met- shared my name."

"Really," she sneered. "Your own people don't know your name."

"They don't," Haplo said. "But they do know mine."

* * *

><p>That has always bothered me. Why, if Haplo was supposed to be incognito in case a Sartan recognized him, did he <em>give out his magical Patryn name that grants magical power over him and marks him as a Patryn?<em> It makes no sense, and it's really a surprise that the Sartan on Chelestra didn't pop in to kidnap him. For that matter, why aren't they trying to get him now? Simple- they see Alfred as the weakest link. He'd be easier to interrogate, so they want to arrest him and question him about the worlds domination conspiracy that he's _clearly_ a part of.

Hopefully updates will be faster, as it's now NaNoWriMo. Hooray!

-Antares


	13. Chapter 13

Marit went white as the implications reeled through her brain. And then, as was her wont, she blamed Alfred. "You told them his name?" You gave them magical power over him? You betrayed him, handed his identity over to a thousand Sartan enemies who want him captured, imprisoned, dead? Furious images of what the other Sartan could do with that name, of the magics they could work, permeated her words. They slammed into Alfred's mind, made him stagger backwards.

"They'd have learned it anyways," Haplo growled. In retrospect, it was rather stupid of him not to have come up with a pseudonym of his own (Hal, perhaps?). But then, he hadn't known much about mensch names when he came to Arianus, and what was done was done. There was no point in whining about the past, just in moving forward. "From the mensch."

"That doesn't justify it," Alfred pointed out. "I still shouldn't have-"

Haplo shook his head, the ache behind his temples spiking. "Whatever. You can't change the past, Alfred."

"Well, no, but-"

"You can't change the past."

"No, he can't," Marit noted. She clearly wasn't entirely convinced of Alfred's innocence yet. "But he did still give your name to your enemies."

Once again, Haplo lamented his decision to get out of bed.

"I'm sorry," Alfred whispered, staring at his feet. He glanced up at Haplo, viewed the Patryn sideways. "I didn't know they would do something like this."

Marit snorted. "You didn't know that a bunch of Sartan would attack him in his own ship? You didn't realize that your people would do their best to capture him, break him? They might claim they came here for you, and maybe they did, but that can change at any moment. If they decide to attack Haplo, if they capture or kill him, it will be your fault."

All right, that was enough. Haplo butted into the conversation. "It's too late for me to start using a pseudonym, but we can still learn from this. Alfred, Bane, what's a good, inconspicuous name for a human woman?"

"Mary, perhaps," the Sartan suggested. Bane didn't answer. He wanted the adults to forget he was there, to loosen their tongues, lower their inhibitions. He knew full well that they were keeping secrets from him, and he didn't like it one bit. "Or a variant of it, like Maria or Marie. All three names are quite unremarkable. So is Martha. Margaret and its variants. Or, if you wanted something that didn't sound at all like your true name, you could try something like Joan."

"Is he telling the truth?" Marit asked Bane, thwarting the boy's plans to remain unnoticed.

Pouting, the prince replied, "Yes. There are lots of women with those names."

"Why would I lie?" Alfred muttered, though he was careful not to let Marit hear.

"Because you're a Sartan," Haplo muttered back. "You might not have noticed this, Alfred, but she doesn't seem to trust you much."

"No, really?"

He was a bit too loud in his last two words. Marit heard, looked up. "What was that, Sartan?" she demanded.

All right, that was it. He could understand suspicion, even some degree of paranoia, but this was utterly ridiculous. Haplo's face went blank, hard as stone, the cords in his neck bulging with strain. His fists clenched, muscles going taut all along his body. At his side, the dog's ears lay back as the animal snarled. His fur fluffed up, making him larger, a dark contrast against his white fangs.

"Listen up," Haplo snapped, his voice merging with the dog's growl. "All of you."

The other three listened up. Alfred's face was worried and confused, Bane's nervous and calculating, Marit's wary and watchful.

"Marit. Bane. Our lord put me in charge of this mission. _I'm _his main emissary to the four elemental worlds, not you two." Haplo bared his teeth in a parody of a smile. "That means that you listen to me."

Bane was indignant. "I'm the prince of Uland-"

"I don't care," Haplo interrupted. The changeling's jaw sagged; he had almost never been interrupted before, and certainly not by someone of such low birth. "You're on this ship because you gave your fealty to my lord- _your_ lord too, kid. That means that in anything related to our mission, _you _defer to _me._ Understand?" The runes on his body glowed softly, a sign of dominance instead of danger, a visible reminder of Bane's current status.

The boy flushed, the ugly red contrasting horribly with his blond hair, but did not respond.

"Understand?" Haplo repeated, towering over the smaller male.

Lips tight, fists clenched, Bane nodded.

"Good." Haplo turned his attention to Alfred, who seemed less than pleased by his treatment of Bane. Menace or not, the changeling was still only a child. "I don't have the same kind of authority over you, Alfred, but we made a deal. Will you listen to me, do as I say, until the deal is done?"

He didn't hesitate. "Of course."

"How come you're asking him and ordering us?" Bane whined.

"Because I don't have legal authority over him, that's why," Haplo snapped. Also because Alfred didn't need to be bullied- at least not now. The Sartan wasn't the source of their current problems (well, he was in a way, but that didn't have to be the case. It wasn't Alfred's fault that he hadn't been born human or Patryn, wasn't his fault that his ancestors and Haplo's had loathed each other); the Patryn man didn't even really have to include him in his tirade.

"Time for some ground rules. Rule one: no murder attempts. This means no throwing daggers-" he met Marit's eyes "-no poisonings-" Bane attempted to look innocent. If Haplo hadn't known the brat's history, it might actually have worked "-and no magic." This to Alfred, who hadn't tried to kill anybody and really didn't need this lecture. Oh, well. There would be rules for him later.

"Rule two: don't provoke each other. No snarky comments about Bane's parentage, no unmitigated glaring at Alfred, no insults of any kind. You will not try to bait each other, trick each other into breaking a rule, or act like you're going to pick a fight.

"Rule three: if you're going to use magic, give everyone else a warning first." This was the first rule that was directed mostly at Alfred. The Sartan had a tendency to use magic without thinking. Haplo didn't mind- that tendency had saved his bacon more than once- but Marit felt differently, as evidenced by the dagger-throwing incident. "And preferably an explanation of the spell. Obviously not in battle, but no other exceptions."

The older man hesitated. Haplo's foot tapped, impatient. "Spit it out."

"I assume that at least one of you will be coming with me into the catacombs?" At Haplo's nod, he continued, "Will I have to explain every defensive spell before casting it?"

"No," said Haplo, even as Marit said, "Yes." The two Patryns locked gazes, frustrated. Then Marit remembered her ex-lover's earlier remarks and grudgingly looked away. She might be Xar's spy, but he was his emissary, his son. He outranked her just as much as he outranked Bane.

"Rule four," Haplo announced, satisfied that he wouldn't have to force yet another confrontation, "we're going to try to be civil to each other. I'm not asking you to become best friends, but like it or not, we share the same mission. We can fulfill our mission more effectively by learning to cooperate."

"Okay," Alfred agreed, meek as ever. His head was lowered but his eyes were level, clear, understanding. Alfred was very good at understanding.

"Does everyone understand?" Haplo finished.

"Yes."

"Fine."

Marit didn't say anything, just nodded.

"Good." The tension drained from Haplo's shoulders. "We're almost there. Did you want to land, Marit, or should I?"

"Can it wait a moment?" Alfred queried.

The others stared at him, not having any idea what he was thinking. "Why wait?" Haplo asked.

"There is a spell that can prevent them- my people, that is- from transporting to you again," the Sartan explained. "I've never cast it before, but I know it inside and out. It was developed on Arianus as a theoretical exercise and involves some fascinating applications of-" He took in the Patryns' expressions and amended his statement. "The point is, I know how to cast it and they don't. I'm not certain how that would affect the dog, and I obviously can't include people whose names I don't know- not that I'm asking you for anyone else's name, of course- but this way you will be safe from an attack like the one today."

"You want to cast an unknown spell on Haplo?" Marit's voice oozed suspicion, distrust, and of course she phrased the Sartan's proposal in the worst possible way.

"Not unknown," Alfred corrected. "I just haven't cast it before."

Marit snorted, folded her arms. Haplo wondered in frustration if she'd even listened to his lecture five minutes ago. "Alfred's good at picking up new spells," he told her. "I'd be dead if he wasn't." He turned to the pleased-looking Sartan in question. "Use the spell on me and on the ship. Leave a hole in the spell on me for yourself and Marit and a hole for the three of us on the ship's spell."

"Me?" Alfred exclaimed.

"Yes, you. Are you _deaf?_"

"No."

"Haplo-" Marit began.

The male Patryn raised a hand, shook his head. "I'm not saying that you have to like him, Marit, but you will have to learn to trust him. I do." He turned to Alfred, was disgusted (but not really surprised) to see that the Sartan was tearing up. "Cast the damn spells already, will you? I'd like to land as soon as possible."

The wet-eyed Sartan nodded rapidly. "Of course." He backed up, began a merry, high-pitched song. Runes flowed from his hands to surround the ship, settling into the walls. A bright smile lit up his face, lent speed to his dance. The Patryns listened to the runes, understood very little except their own names, harsh consonants instead of the Sartan language's long, musical vowels. After a couple minutes of activity, Alfred slowed to a stop, but the magic didn't leave his face. "Your turn, Haplo." He stepped forward, not stumbling once (though he didn't have that far to go), repeated his song. This time, the only Patryn rune-name he used belonged to Marit. The woman in question watched with one hand on her dagger.

When Haplo didn't spontaneously combust, she allowed herself to relax a bit. It was possible that the Sartan had cast a delayed-reaction spell, but she doubted it. Why she doubted she could not say, didn't want to say, but it was probably safe to assume that a man who hadn't hurt them in the days they'd lived on the same ship wouldn't break his habit now. Not that she'd let her guard down, of course. She wasn't stupid.

"All right," Haplo said once the spell was complete. He hadn't stiffened as Alfred worked his magic on him, as a _Sartan_ cast a spell on a Patryn. Either he was very brave or, as he'd said to Marit, he really did trust the older man. "Now that this is settled, which of us was going to land the ship?"

"I will." Marit wanted as much experience as possible, just in case. Her eyes traveled to Alfred once again, weighed him briefly before returning to the steering stone.

Haplo followed her gaze, sighed. Well, he reminded himself, I didn't say she had to like him. Not that she would even if I had said that. And I suppose that trust can't be forced. As long as she lets go of this in emergencies, there's nothing I can do.

"You do remember how to land, right?"

"Of course."

The landing went smoothly, without a hitch. Marit parked the ship half a mile away from the Kicksey-winsey's nearest limb, hid it behind a mask of runes. The ship was not invisible, but it would be almost impossible for anyone to see it, especially if they didn't know it was there. Not that any dwarves would come this far outside of the machine's all-encompassing embrace, but it was always better to be safe than sorry.

"Here's the plan," Haplo announced as they walked towards the Kicksey-winsey. "We find Limbeck and give him this copy of the book." They had two extra copies in the ship, not wanting to risk anything more than they absolutely had to. Even Alfred thought that the replication was a good idea and wondered aloud why his people hadn't done that themselves. "He calls his people together. We go down into the tunnels so Alfred can cast his magic. By the time we get up, Limbeck will have gotten everyone important. We bring them down and have that automaton work the machine. The continents align, everyone's happy, and we can leave. Questions?"

"What then?" Alfred asked. The Sartan hadn't been having a good time. The island's ground was rocky and uneven. Combined with his natural clumsiness and his justifiable nervousness around Marit, not to mention his lingering aches from being thrown around the ship like a living missile, the landscape was a recipe for disaster. He'd fallen several times, once knocking over Bane, once almost crushing the poor dog. Things had gotten better since the dog devoted all his energy to helping the poor man, but Alfred would have an impressive collection of bruises when their journey was over.

Good thing they'd landed so close. Haplo didn't want to think about what would have happened if Alfred had had to walk farther. "Then we get Bane back to his parents and give them the excuse my lord formulated. The humans will have an heir- two heirs- and stability will be assured."

Alfred considered asking what excuse that might be, decided better of it. "All right."

"Yeah." Haplo rested his hand against the cool metal of the machine. He scanned its length, couldn't see an entrance. The Patryn briefly considered opening a door there and now, if only for poor Alfred's sake, but decided not to. They could walk some more. Even the Sartan could walk some more. "Now come on. Let's go."

* * *

><p>I really feel sorry for Haplo now. And Alfred. *tries to hug both and is warded off with magic*<p>

Yeah... for NaNoWriMo, I'm just trying to write 50k for my various projects- Harry Potter, this, a long DGC one-shot, etc. Hopefully there will be another _Traitors _update before the end of the month and I'll be able to publish that long one-shot. Hopefully.

-Antares


	14. Chapter 14

Charmayne was not having a good week, and it was all due to one man. Alfred Montbank had, in the space of just a few days, singlehandedly done more to annoy her than anyone else she'd ever met. He had somehow managed to make the dragon-snakes threaten a war of extinction against their entire race (something about revenge, a dragon, and a mountain. Their illusory ambassador had been a bit vague in its rants. Not that it was _that_ much of a threat, as its race consisted of beasts going up against Sartan, but guess who got to clean up _that _mess?), given the mensch access to Sartan law books, incited those same mensch to further rebellion, and then physically knocked her to the floor of those Patryns' ship before banging her around like a child's ball. And, worst of all, he'd made her fail in two missions that had been personally assigned to her by Samah himself.

The Head of the Council of Seven did not forgive failures easily. Charmayne could almost see her chances of promotion from servitor to Councillor plummeting.

Her first failure had taken place just a couple of days ago when she had gone to remind the mensch that they had agreed to obey the Sartans' laws… only to be told that all changes in their existing legal code had to go through their Sartan advisor. The infernal children had cited the law of her people chapter and verse, using the exact same legal language it had been written in.

Charmayne had pointed out that they didn't have a Sartan advisor yet, that one would be appointed for them by the Council. The mensch had just grinned and informed her that no, that wouldn't be necessary, they already had an advisor. Then one of their legal experts had cited the duties of a Sartan advisor as they appeared in the law: provide advice (obviously), provide explanations for the Sartans' actions regarding the other races, attend state functions, and plead the case of the mensch before the Council of Seven. He also had to be 'above racial conflict.' Whether by intent or by accident (Charmayne suspected the latter), Alfred Montbank had fulfilled all those requirements. Therefore, the wickedly grinning mensch had told her, the Sartan had to go through him. After all, we _did_ agree to follow your laws.

That was when one of the nobles present, a minor human politician, had had to flee the room. He was not quite out of earshot when he broke. His laughter had echoed through the halls.

Charmayne had been decidedly less amused.

In a clipped, cold voice, she had informed the mensch that their so-called advisor was a bumbling idiot whom the Council wouldn't trust with a goldfish, much less their welfare. Unfortunately for her, the children knew every last clause and sub-clause of the laws pertaining to advisors. They informed her (with really much too much sadistic pleasure) that insulting the Sartan advisor of a mensch ruler, much less the Sartan advisor to all three mensch rulers, was punishable by jail time.

She had spent the night soaking wet in a submarine-turned-cell that held some of the elves' least harmful prisoners.

When Ramu finally rescued her (rescued her! Rescued a Sartan from mensch!), she had gone straight to the law books and read through everything about advisors and mensch she could find. Sadly, the children were right: Alfred Montbank had carried out all the duties of a Sartan advisor, albeit in a very unusual way. He'd only attended one state function, a funeral, but that was enough to qualify him. He didn't need the Council's approval (and hadn't that nearly sent her into paroxysms when she'd read it. Why in the name of the Sundering didn't Sartan advisors need the approval of the Council?), just to fulfill his duties and to be named advisor by the mensch. Which was exactly what had happened, though Charmayne couldn't help but wonder if Montbank even knew of his new position.

Fortunately, there was a loophole. If the man was declared a traitor by the unanimous vote of the Council of Seven, he was disqualified from holding any position of authority, including that of mensch advisor. The Council had called an emergency meeting and condemned him in less than five minutes, a new record. Charmayne had gone back to the mensch and smugly told them that they had a new advisor now—only to be reminded that, under Sartan law, the accused had to be present if his trial was to be considered valid.

That time, more than one nobleman had laughed at the look on her face. They'd tried to flee, but she had heard them laugh. Oh, yes, she had heard them.

And that, of course, resulted in her disastrous mission to Arianus, wherein she'd been tossed around like an abused toy and had failed once again. She'd never been so humiliated in all her life!

And it was all Montbank's fault.

Ramu had suggested waiting a few hours, letting them land, then attempting to kidnap the traitor again. Not wanting to go back and face Samah without their prey, the other Sartan had agreed—only to discover that something was blocking their magic. Perhaps the Patryn man wasn't on Arianus anymore? It was the only thing that made sense.

So they'd gone to Pryan, to Abarrach, even to Chelestra and tried again. Once more, they'd had no results. The Patryn man might not have existed. Obviously he and his comrades had fled back to the Nexus. Into the Patryn-infested Nexus that was probably bristling with booby traps.

No, they could not pursue them there. They had to return home in disgrace, outwitted by a buffoon and a pair of Patryns.

Charmayne was not looking forward to delivering her report.

Sure enough, Samah's visage grew steadily darker as she told the tale. She really should have made Ramu do this. Anything would be better than reliving her humiliation in front of the man she respected above all others.

"Perhaps we could change the law itself?" she suggested, desperate to make up for her embarrassment. "Or another approach, remind them that this is our land and that they should treat us with more respect. Skilled seafarers or not, they can't survive in their ships forever."

Samah raised his arm, ordered her to be silent. Flushing, she obeyed his unspoken demand. The Councillor growled, "I propose a recess so that we might think on our response to this… situation."

For the first time, Charmayne understood Montbank's unhealthy fascination with fainting. Even unconsciousness and a bruise on the back of her head would be better than standing around quailing under Samah's disapproval.

"You could have helped me," she growled at Ramu several minutes later as they sat in one of the discussion rooms.

The other servitor had grace enough to look embarrassed but not enough grace to apologize. "I was attempting to think of ways to rectify this situation. If the Patryns brought the traitor back to the Nexus, it would be suicide to take him directly. We cannot lie to the mensch, say that Montbank was present at his trial, and even if we could we would be so inexperienced at deceit that the children would see right through it. However, any attempt to change our own laws—at least before we've appointed a suitable advisor for each of the mensch—would make us look incompetent, foolish." He scowled. Clearly changing the law was not an option. "What we need to do is find some way of luring the idiot away from his Patryn 'friends.'"

"We don't know his name," Charmayne pointed out. "If we did that, we couldn't transport him in and out."

Ramu winced. "Yes," he admitted. "That is where all my plans start to fall apart. Not to mention how difficult it would be to even make him aware of the bait. We have no lines of communication to the Nexus, no way of hooking him."

"Perhaps our brethren from the other worlds will have some ideas," Charmayne sighed. "A brother or sister from Arianus, for example." She scowled. "I refuse to believe the traitor's stories about mass death and necromancy."

Death. Charmayne fell silent. Her heart paused for a moment before leaping into double time. Blood surged through her body, pounded in her ears.

Montbank could not serve as an advisor if he were dead.

Horrified at herself, the Sartan woman gave her head a violent shake. No! Corrupt or not, traitor or not, Montbank was still a Sartan. Since the beginning of time, no Sartan had ever murdered another. No Sartan had ever arranged another's death. So what if that was a neat solution to all their problems, so much easier than taking him alive?

Deep shudders wracked the woman's frame. She felt sick to her stomach, wondered if she should send Ramu for some kind of repository in case she had to throw up.

Montbank had made her consider an abomination. He had infected her with his corruption, twisted the center of her being. Even when he wasn't present, he was a blight on his own people, a force of destruction and decay.

He had to be stopped, Charmayne realized. For the first time she understood that the strange, _different _man with his mensch name and tattered coat had his own brand of power. Not a good kind of power, not the wholesome song of magic. Something else, something different. Something insidious, a creeping-crawling thing that crept into one's mind and waited for a moment of weakness.

Alfred Montbank, with his clear eyes that _saw _and disquieting assurance, had the ability to change people.

And not, Charmayne thought, for the better.

"Sister? Sister?" Ramu's voice, concerned.

"He must be stopped," she rasped. Her trembling hadn't abated, hadn't even slowed. "Do you hear me, Ramu? The traitor must be stopped before he destroys us all."

* * *

><p>"I have to warn you," Jarre said, voice filled with quiet pain, "he's changed."<p>

"Changed?" Haplo queried.

The dwarf sighed as they entered another tunnel. The Sartan and Patryns had to duck to get past the threshold, and Alfred still hit his head, but Bane and Jarre could stay upright. The dwarf woman kept her gaze on the tunnel, away from her guests. "I mean that he's changed. He's a lot more focused now, but he's not Limbeck anymore." Her shoulders slumped, making her skinny as a human child. Then she forced herself to stand up straight. A smile plastered itself onto her face, even though the others, who were following her to Limbeck's headquarters, couldn't see it. Even though it wasn't genuine at all. "A more efficient leader, though, so that's good for WUPP." She shrugged, embarrassed by confiding in them. "Oh, and he has glasses now."

"Good for Limbeck," Haplo said. Something twisted in his gut. The dragon-snakes couldn't possibly be influencing Limbeck, could they? If they had set their sights on the curious, passionate, patriotic dwarf, he didn't know what he'd do.

It would be bloody, though.

"Will he call together the rest of your people, though?" Marit demanded.

Jarre didn't hesitate. "Yes. Gladly. Our people might not worship the We—the elves—anymore, but we still have a lot of respect for the Mangers." She twisted her head, gazed at Alfred sidewise. The Sartan, red-faced, tripped over his own feet, fell sprawling across the floor.

"You shouldn't," Marit muttered.

"In fact," Jarre continued, "Limbeck says that even the W—the elves respect the Mangers. The Sartan. I wonder what would happen if a Manger asked hem nicely to quit warring against us."

Alfred gave a low moan. He curled up ever so slightly, face hidden against the floor.

"If the Kicksey-Winsey starts working, they won't need to fight you," Haplo pointed out. He squatted down beside Alfred, offered the Sartan a hand. "The machine's purpose is to bring water to the Mid Realms. They're fighting you for water."

Alfred lifted his head. "And control," he said quietly. "Once people think you're a god, it's very disheartening to see them become learn the truth. Gods-on-earth dislike being reminded that we're mortals just like everyone else." He sighed heavily, breath rattling in his throat. "Respect, power, control—it's hard to give such things up once you're accustomed to them."

"Is that why—sorry, sorry." Jarre flushed. "I shouldn't have asked."

"I think it is," Alfred sighed.

Marit frowned. She wasn't certain how much she liked the Sartan's lingering influence. On the one hand, it would make the completion of this task that much easier. On the other, there were other Sartan on the other worlds. They could easily come from Abarrach and Chelestra to reclaim their old dominion. Actually, on second, thought, she _did_ know how much she liked their power: not at all.

Alfred accepted Haplo's help. The Patryn hauled him to his feet, raised an eyebrow in question. Something passed between them, a silent question. Marit's hackles raised, though she kept the scowl from her face.

"Jarre. There are…. During my travels, I encountered creatures called dragon-snakes." The cords in Haplo's neck bulged with tightly controlled anger. Alfred, much to Marit's horror, laid a comforting hand on the Patryn's shoulder. Neither man seemed to notice. Haplo continued, "I think that they might have something to do with Limbeck's changes. How long ago did they start?"

"Since he got back from the High Realms."

Haplo relaxed. He noticed Alfred's hand for the first time, raised an eyebrow. The flushing Sartan mumbled an apology, backed away.

"It's been sometimes slow, sometimes fast, but that's when it started."

"Then the dragon-snakes couldn't have done it," Haplo assured her.

"And if they had," Marit growled, "we wouldn't have had to worry about it. They are our allies, Haplo."

"They tried to murder me and three children."

Jarre gasped.

"I've told you, Mar-Marjorie," he corrected himself, hating the false name that passed his lips, "what they said. 'Chaos is our life's blood. Death our meat and drink.' I saw them grow larger, sleeker, fatter, as they fed off of discord and hate. They are evil, just as bad as anything in the Labyrinth." Passion burned in his eyes, in his low, quiet voice. He believed his words with his whole heart, and the force of that belief was almost enough to sway Marit.

Almost.

"Our lord—the man who saved both our lives—says otherwise."

"He hasn't seen them in their element. If he'd watched them around pain and suffering, if he'd seen how they gloated when Alake died in my arms, if he'd heard about the _massacres _they'd created among the mensch for no reason, then he'd know what they really are."

"What are they?" Jarre demanded, her voice high and frightened.

Haplo opened his mouth, ready to give his answer, but Alfred beat him to it. "They are Evil," he said quietly, sadly, just as confident as Haplo. "And we—all of us—created them."

* * *

><p>I feel a bit bad for Charmayne. Sure, she's a snob, but Alfred is kind of ruining her life. Not that he means to (as she suspects, he has no idea whatsoever that he's now an ambassador, poor thing), but he still kind of is. On that note, this chapter disagrees with an AN from a couple chapters ago, wherein I stated that the Sartan just wanted to interrogate Alfred. As this is <em>so<em> much more amusing, I changed my mind. This is now fanon! You don't mind, do you?

-Antares


End file.
